


The Game of Treachery

by penrosewriter



Series: The Adventures of Janelock Holmes [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Drama, F/M, Feels, Femlock, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humor, Jane Watson - Freeform, Jealous Sherlock, Murder, Relationship(s), Romance, Secrets, Series, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Violence, girl!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5796226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penrosewriter/pseuds/penrosewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding herself part of a bigger plan than she had first thought, Jane is now part of a precarious spider web. Her main question is however, when will Sherlock realise just how deep this game truly is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here is the third main story for this series!! I have a lot of high hopes for this story, and am so excited about this one!

Belarus. What looked like an intriguing murder, was actually one that was made out of ire. How dull. It’d been two weeks since he’d last seen Jane, and he was eager to return home. Once he stepped off the plane though, he saw a familiar figure waiting for him. Mycroft’s personal assistant, Anthea. Ignoring her, Sherlock attempted to pass her.

“Mycroft has a ride for you.” Anthea said without glancing up from her phone.

“Well tell my brother I said no.”

“He said you have to.”

“Tell him to get used to disappointment.”

***

Five minutes later, Sherlock was in Mycroft’s car, on the way to Baker Street. Looking out the window, Sherlock pointedly ignored Mycroft.

“Oh stop sulking, you knew you’d come.”

“Did I?” Sherlock asked, poising an air of boredom.

“Yes. How is life with the doctor…progressing?”

“Small talk was never a suiting subject for you.”

“This isn’t small talk Brother.”

“An assessment then. Well enough with her I suppose, she keeps the flat relatively clean and can be useful at times.” Raising his eyebrows, Mycroft looked over at Sherlock.

“From the reports I heard about from…your previous case, it’s been said you’ve been getting on more than ‘well enough’.”

Tilting his head, Sherlock eyeballed Mycroft.

“And what are you trying to imply?” Sherlock asked, knowing very well what Mycroft was about to say.

“Let’s just say…your relationship is leaning towards…unprofessional.”

“How so?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“Putting your own health and safety at risk for her is not a wise choice of action.”

Jaw tightening, Sherlock glared at Mycroft.

“It would be _inconvenient_ if something were to happen to her.”

“My advice to you is to be cautious on how you handle this relationship. It might end up being your undoing.” Mycroft warned as the car pulled up to Baker Street.

“Yes, thank you for your advice, I’ll be sure to follow it.” Sherlock sneered, his words holding opposite meaning.

Opening the door, Sherlock slammed it shut as he went up the stairs. Mycroft wanted him to have a flat mate, and now he thought the relationship was inappropriate. He had the decisive skills of a sixteen year old girl.

“Oh Sherlock, you’re home! You should have told me you were coming back, I would’ve made you something!!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, giving him a hug.

“Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock greeted her, giving her a warm hug.

“And how was the case?”

“Dull.”

“Well you just sit and rest, and I’ll make you a cuppa.” Mrs. Hudson said soothingly, flicking on the kettle.

“Where’s Jane?” Sherlock asked, looking around.

“Oh, she went out to do some sort of research.”

Pouting a little, Sherlock slumped in his arm chair before seeing Jane’s laptop. Grabbing it, Sherlock entered her newest passcode and noticed her blog was open. Now that he thought about it, he never read her blog before. Might as well.

“Well, I’m off to the shops and dinner with Marie, you’d better behave yourself young man!” Mrs. Hudson told him before heading out.

***

    Jane was late today. It was eleven at night, and she still wasn’t home. Annoyed, Sherlock looked for ways to pass the time. Finding a can of Michigan Yellow on the coffee table, Sherlock recalled their previous case. Shaking it a little, Sherlock sprayed a bright yellow smiley face on the wall. Needless to say, it was entertaining for all of twenty seconds before the suffocating boredom hit again. Looking over at Jane’s gun, Sherlock smirked. He had an idea.

***

_Bam! Bam!_ Looking up the stairs, Jane’s eyes widened. What was going on? Was someone trying to kill Sherlock? Why was he back early? Putting her pocket knife in her back pocket, Jane rushed up the stairs. Stopping at the door, Jane looked angrily at Sherlock.

“What on earth-”

Ducking a little when he shot the wall, Jane clenched her fists as she took long strides toward Sherlock.

“-Are you doing?!”

“Bored.” Sherlock muttered.

Sitting in his leather chair, Sherlock shot another shot at the wall.

“What?! You’re shooting a wall because you’re bored?” Jane scowled in disbelief.

“Bored! Bored!” Sherlock shouted, standing up.

Shooting from behind his back, Sherlock continued to mark up the wall.

“Stop it already!!” Jane yelled over the gun shots.

Handing the gun to Jane, Jane instantly slid the clip out and slammed it on the table.

“Already causing havoc?” She snapped, shaking her head.

“The criminals I’ve been dealing with are morons Jane. Good thing I’m not one of them.”

“So you decided to have a go at the wall?” Jane looked up at the ceiling in exasperation.

“The wall has had it coming.” Sherlock grumbled, flicking the wall.

“I’m taking your trip to Belarus wasn’t fruitful?”

“Nothing but a domestic murder.” Sherlock complained.

“You poor thing.” Jane rolled her eyes as she walked to the kitchen.

“Hey, did Mrs. Hudson get groceries yet, I’m starving-agh!!”

Slamming the door shut again, Jane put a hand on her racing heart before opening it slowly to find a severed head in the fridge.

“Sherlock, there’s a head. A bloody head in the _refrigerator_.”

“Just tea for me, thanks.” Sherlock hummed. “Care to explain?” Jane demanded, hand on her hip.

“I’m experimenting with coagulation of saliva after death, Molly lent me the head.”

“But in the fridge?! Really Sherlock?”

“Well where else was I supposed to put the head, in the pantry? You don’t mind do you?”

“Why on earth would I mind…?” Jane muttered sarcastically.

“…I read your blog. ‘Seeing Pink’, interesting title.” Sherlock noted, flopping on the couch.

“Yeah, I decided to name it that because of all the pink in the case. You know, pink lady, pink phone…um, did you like it?”

“U-m no, actually, I did not.” Sherlock said, raising his eyebrows as he picked up a newspaper.

“What, why? The whole post is about you, I’d have thought you’d be flattered.”

“Flattered?” Sherlock spat out as he slammed the newspaper down and sat up.

“ _‘Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in a matter of moments. I find it incredible however, that he can be so remarkably ignorant about some things.’_ ” Sherlock recited.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that Sherlock.” Jane said apologetically.

“Oh, you meant ‘remarkably ignorant’ nicely, it’s all making sense now. Look, I don’t care Jane, about who’s sleeping with who…”

Jane knew a rant was brewing and braced herself.

“I know...”

“I really don’t care what social media trends are in or out…”

“And you also don’t know about the solar system…” Jane muttered under her breath.

Hearing her, Sherlock glared up at her.

“Not that again! The solar system isn’t important to my work Jane.”

“But it’s primary school stuff Sherlock! I learned that the Earth goes around the Sun when I was eight! And you’re what, early thirties? How do you not know?”

“Because I deleted it.” Sherlock answered simply.

“Deleted it. You can delete things from your head?”

“Listen. My mind, it’s a hard drive. I only keep things in there that are actually relevant and important to my work. I don’t keep rubbish like the Sun and Earth in my head! I keep maps and weaponry information, not something that’d be only useful to a child.” Sherlock explained, tapping his head for emphasis.

“But it’s the Solar System!” Jane tossed up her hands.

“So what, we go around the sun! If we went ‘round and ‘round the garden like a Teddy Bear, it wouldn’t make any difference.”

“You delete information on the planets, but you keep nursery rhymes your Mum would tell you at bedtime.” Jane huffed, shaking her head a little.

“All I care about is the work Jane. Nothing else, not you, Mrs. Hudson, just the work. Put that in your blog, and then stop inflicting your _moronic_ opinions on the rest of us!”

Laying back on the couch, Sherlock turned his back on her in a huff, waiting for her retort. When he only heard the rustle of her jacket, Sherlock looked over his shoulder to see her zipping it back up.

“Where are you going?”

“Out. Don’t wait up for me Sherlock.” She said coldly, stomping down the stairs.

“Where are you going out at this late hour Jane?” Sherlock heard Mrs. Hudson ask Jane in the foyer.

“I need some air.”

Hearing the door slam, Sherlock looked out the window to watch Jane leave. Apparently Sanford and Jane made up, explaining why she was going to his flat.

“First day home, and you’re already running that poor girl out of the flat?” Mrs. Hudson scolded Sherlock as she went up the stairs.

“It’s not like I forced her out.”

“Oh don’t play innocent Sherlock. I know you drove Jane out.”

“It’s too quiet in here.” Sherlock grumbled.

“And whose fault is that? You owe her an apology.” Mrs. Hudson continued to admonish him as she put grocery bags on the table.

“Quiet…calm…peaceful. It’s hateful.”

“Perhaps a murder will turn up soon-Sherlock, what have you done to my wall?!” Mrs. Hudson gasped as she noticed the yellow face.

“That’s going on your rent young man!” Mrs. Hudson shook her head as she went down the stairs. If Jane was here, he knew what she’d say: _Well done you, you even got Mrs. Hudson miffed._

Turning to the imaginary Jane, he gave an obnoxious grin before looking down at his feet. Sherlock was thinking of playing his violin-when a loud boom resounded, resulting in the shattering of the windows. Knocked down, the last thing Sherlock heard were the alarms of cars before his vision went black.

***

Knocking on the door, Jane sighed and shivered against the cold wind. She probably should’ve dressed warmer, but she was just so angry at Sherlock she couldn’t even think straight. Door opening, she smiled gingerly when she saw Sanford open it.

“Jane?”

“H-hi. Um, could I come in for a bit?”

“Sure…”

“Sorry I didn’t call ahead of time.”

“No, it’s alright. Please come in.”

Graciously opening the door for her, Sanford ushered her in.

“What brings you in here so late?”

“I got into a row with Sherlock so…”

Nodding, Sanford turned on the kettle.

“I haven’t seen you since you stopped going to the clinic, how are you?”

“I’m good, good. You?”

“Good.”

When the silence became too awkward, Jane cleared her throat and tried to think of something to say.

“I know this is a crappy time to come over, so I apologise.”

“No, it’s fine Jane. Crabby boyfriends, I get it.”

“No, no…we’re not dating.” Jane replied, sitting on the sofa.

“You’re not?” When she shook her head, Sanford smiled.

“Good. I mean, for me, anyway. Listen, I know what I said, that I didn’t think it’d work out. The thing is Jane, I really, truly like you. You are someone I can see myself with so…”

Scooting closer to her, Sanford asked slowly:

“Would you give me another chance?”

Thinking about it, Jane sat back. What was there to consider? He was nice, friendly, funny, and sociable, basically Sherlock’s complete opposite. She hadn’t been serious about anyone in nearly six years, so why not? But she also didn’t quite...she wasn't sure how she felt exactly about Sanford.

“Jane..?”

Taking her hand, Sanford repeated his question.

“Um…yeah, sure. I’d like that.”

***

“I won’t do it.” Sherlock said stubbornly.

“It’s important!” Mycroft snapped.

“No.”

“Read it over, I can assure you it’s interesting.”

“…No. Moreover, you’ve gained five and a half pounds.”

“Moreover, where is the Doctor?” Mycroft asked, glaring at Sherlock.

“Air.”

“Really. I deduce you made her upset, and she is now gone. Women are so…fleeting.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sherlock asked, cleaning his violin.

“I mean that, their affections are easily altered.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock did not answer.

“She is…rather fond of you.”

“Please. Spare me this conversation again.”

“Undoubtedly, she has heard of the explosion, and is making a beeline from wherever she went off to, which I am sure was Sanford Lewis’ residence.”

His concentration on his violin darkened as he looked it over.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She knows I’m fine, or the press would have said something by now.”

Hearing the downstairs door bang open, Sherlock knew she had gone home.

“Sherlock, are you alright?!”

“Not fond of you?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow.

At that moment, she door burst open, and Jane, breathing hard, let out a sigh of relief.

“Jane.” Sherlock greeted her, his eyes not once leaving the man sitting in her chair.

Looking over at Mycroft, Jane decided not to comment on his presence, but turned her focus to Sherlock.

“I-I saw what happened on the news, are you ok?”

“Hmm?” Looking around, Sherlock looked at the shards of glass and papers cluttered all over the floor.

“Oh yes, quite fine. A gas leak apparently.” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively at the events.

Returning his attention to Mycroft, Sherlock plucked at his violin strings.

“I can’t.” Sherlock said, swerving the conversation back to its original topic.

“Oh that is a first, I must admit. Sherlock Holmes ‘can’t’ do it.”

_Plink!_ Cried the violin.

“I have important stuff, I can’t spare time.”

_Stuff? He sounds like a teenager trying to get out of going somewhere with a grandparent._ Jane thought, raising an eyebrow.

“This is of national importance!”

_Plink!_

“How’s the diet Mycroft?” Sherlock hummed.

Looking as if he was tempted to make a retort but ultimately deciding not to, Mycroft turned to Jane.

“Perhaps you can get through to him.”

“Um…I think I am going to stay out of this.” Jane said slowly, looking at the damage of the flat.

The last thing she wanted was to be on both of the brothers’ bad sides.

“If you are so annoyingly insistent, why don’t you do something about it Mycroft?” Sherlock asked, irritated.

“No. There is no possible way for me to leave the office, not with the Korean nuclear negotiations…”

Jane and Sherlock looked up in surprise at him.

“…And you both shall pretend you heard nothing of the sort.” Mycroft said, flashing a warning smile.

“I’m sure after the negotiations you could take it then.” Sherlock remarked.

“This case requires…legwork. You do know how I dislike leg work.” Mycroft said, wrinkling his nose in repulse.

“Oh I do, explaining why you resort to diets instead of treadmills.” Sherlock dryly stated, making Jane snort.

When Mycroft looked her way crossly, she awkwardly glanced away.

“And how is Sanford Lewis, Jane?”

“Um, good…”

“Back together with the man I see?” Mycroft continued, smiling at Sherlock.

“Um…yeah, I guess.”

_Plink!_

“How was the Lillo?” Sherlock called from his chair.

“A sofa Sherlock, it was a sofa.” Mycroft corrected him in a sing-song tone.

Looking her up and down, Sherlock nodded.

“Oh yes, of course.”

Getting out a cloth, Sherlock began cleaning his bow.

“I’m not even going to ask how you two know that.” Jane muttered, rubbing her temple.

“Sherlock’s business has been absolutely booming since the two have you have become…pals.”

Shooting Mycroft a threatening look, Sherlock returned to his violin.

“…I suppose..?”

Not sure what to do, Jane gave Mycroft a quizzing glance. He certainly didn’t seem the type to make small talk.

“And how is life at Baker Street? I imagine quite hellish.”

“I’ve never been happier than I am now.”

“Well…that’s…wonderful.” Eyeing Mycroft suspiciously, Sherlock said nothing.

Taking a folder out of his brief case, Mycroft handed Jane the folder.

“Andrew West is-was his name. He was a civil servant, found dead on the train tracks this morning.”

“He jumped?” Jane asked curiously.

“Yes, that is what most people would assume.”

“…But you aren’t most people, and neither was he.”

Smiling at her conclusion, Sherlock gave a small nod.

“How vigilant of you. No, he worked for us in a missile program called the Bruce Parrington Program.”

Opening the folder, Jane started looking through it.

“Seriously? All of the plans for building a missile on a flash drive? That wasn’t a bright idea.”

Almost laughing at her comment, Sherlock instead chose to smile as he cleaned his bow.

“That was the only copy.”

“Ah. And it’s now missing?”

“Yes. And this case is of the upmost secrecy.” Mycroft added.

“Top secret?”

“Very. I fear people of the West have gotten their hands on it. Sherlock, you must find that flash drive, don’t make me order you.” Mycroft said, turning to Sherlock.

“I’d like to see you try.” He replied, swishing his bow at Mycroft.

Baring his teeth slightly, Mycroft hissed:

“Think it over.”

An uncomfortable air of malice, and unspoken words washed over the room. Sherlock on one side, glaring slightly at Mycroft, while he in turn returned the angry expression. And as if the atmosphere was only Jane’s imagination, Mycroft smiled.

“And now Doctor, this is where I say good day to you.”

Turning to face her, he offered his hand. Politely shaking his hand, Jane looked up at him.

“Goodbye, see you _very_ soon.” Mycroft smiled eerily at her.

“Yeah…bye.” Arching an eyebrow, she watched Mycroft leave.

“So…I take it to you had some kind of…argument not too long ago?”

“Whatever gives you that idea?” Sherlock asked as he picked up his violin to play.

Then, he played a tune (if you could call it that) Jane hadn’t heard before. It was fast, angry, and she feared Sherlock would snap the bow in two.

“…Just a hunch.” Jane sighed, watching him silently mess with his violin.

Whatever had happened here was…odd. And for a strange reason, she felt somehow that she was the cause.

“Why did you lie Sherlock?”

“Sorry?” Sherlock blinked, surprised.

“We haven’t a single thing happening. You were so desperate for a case, you went all the way to Belarus.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Sherlock shrugged, putting away his violin.

Recognition dawned on her face, and she nodded.

“Oh I see…”

“...See what, exactly?” Sherlock asked uncomfortably.

“A sibling rivalry…now it all makes sense.”

“It is not a rivalry.” Sherlock shortly answered.

“Yeah, ok. Because it’s not like I didn’t take three years in University over human psychology.” Jane chuckled.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock heard his phone ringing and picked up.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

Listening intently, Sherlock nodded.

“Of course.”

Hanging up, Sherlock immediately tossed on his coat and scarf.

“Lestrade has something for us. Coming?”

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come? Last time, I’m pretty sure I screwed up a little.”

“Of course I do.” Sherlock answered immediately, sliding on his gloves.

Looking shyly down at her, Sherlock added:

“I’d be utterly lost without my blogger.”

Grinning, Jane blushed and looked down.

“If you insist then.” Jane chuckled, following him out the door.

A quick trip to Scotland Yard, and Jane and Sherlock were following Lestrade to his office.

“So, y’know that explosion near your flat?” Lestrade began, opening his office.

“The gas leak, yeah, what about it?” Jane responded, nodding.

“Well…it wasn’t a gas leak. It was a message.”

Frowning, Sherlock and Jane exchanged quick glances before turning to Lestrade.

“What?” Leaning against his desk, Lestrade took out a yellow manila envelope.

“We found this at the explosion site, in a strong box…it’s addressed to you, Sherlock.”

“To him? Who’d want to do that?” Jane questioned, suddenly on edge.

“Who’d want to kill me?” Looking over at Sally, Sherlock smirked.

“I’m surprised a line isn’t stretching around Baker Street. Have you scanned the letter yet Lestrade?”

“Ah, yeah, nothing in it is rigged or anything.”

“How…reassuring.”

Looking at his name inscribed on the envelope, Sherlock looked it over.

“A woman wrote this, so far, so obvious.”

“How is that obvious…?” Jane sighed as Sherlock opened the envelope.

Eyes widening, he pulled a phone out of the envelope. A pink one.

“I don’t understand. That’s…the pink phone.” Jane shook her head in disbelief.

“Wait a minute. The phone from A Study in Pink??” Looking exasperated, Sherlock glanced at Lestrade.

“A Study in Pink? You read her blog?”

“We all do. D’you really not know that the earth goes round the sun?” Lestrade asked as Sally sniggered.

Scowling, Sherlock twitched his mouth before returning to the phone.

“It isn’t the phone…it’s designed to look like it.”

“First off, how does this person know about the phone, and second, why?” Jane queried.

“I’d imagine from reading off of your blog.” Sherlock answered, throwing a tetchy look in Jane’s direction.

Unlocking the phone, he immediately noticed a new message. Clicking it, he listened. Five beeps in total. Four short ones, and then one dragged out one.

“What was that?”

“Greenwich time signal, but there are supposed to be six, not five. It’s a time code.” Sherlock murmured.

Not following, the rest stayed silent as he mumbled his thoughts aloud.

“No, that’s not it. Pips. People used to send dried seeds and pips to warn others. This…this is a warning. Something’s about to happen.”

“Is that all that is on the phone Sherlock?” Lestrade asked.

“No.”

Pulling up a picture, Sherlock looked at an old room, with peeling wallpaper, a fireplace, and a mirror in the corner.

“Wait…Sherlock…I think I know what this is.” Jane whispered, taking the phone.

“What?” Sherlock questioned her, looking at the picture again.

Swallowing against the grit in her throat, Jane ran out.

“Jane?” Following her, he grabbed the crook of her elbow.

“Where have you seen it before?”

“Sherlock, that…that’s 221C. That mirror? I was the one who helped Mrs. Hudson move it down there. He broke into our bloody flat! We have to go! Lestrade, we’ll meet you there!” Jane called pulling Sherlock into a cab.

Once they arrived, the two bolted into the flat.

“Mrs. Hudson, I need you for a second!!” Jane yelled, knocking on her door.

“Dear, you two haven’t even been out an hour! What’s wrong?”

“I need you to let us into 221C, we have to check something out.”

“Everything alright?” Mrs. Hudson worriedly asked, pulling out the keys.

“Yeah, just something we need to see.”

Hearing Lestrade come into the flat, Jane and Sherlock hurried downstairs.

“Now, we haven’t opened this since Jane came here, so I doubt there’s anything of value down there.” Mrs. Hudson told them, fiddling with the lock.

“No…look at the lock, someone’s been here recently…” Sherlock announced.

“That couldn’t be dear! I’m the only one who has a key to it!” Mrs. Hudson claimed, as she pushed open the creaky door.

“Maybe it’s just a hunch.” Jane muttered, leaving Mrs. Hudson to ramble about the flat.

“Apparently not. And look, our friend’s left us something.” Sherlock said, pointing out something quite unexpected.

A pair of shoes, in the middle of the flat.

“So…this guy broke into your flat to dump off a pair of…shoes?”

Frowning, Sherlock’s brow furrowed as he looked at the shoes. The more he stared, the more familiar they seemed. When he started walking towards it, Jane put her hand on his arm.

“Wait a minute. Remember this guy’s a bomber, he could’ve planted something. Be careful.”

Nodding, Sherlock cautiously approached the shoes and crouched down. Hearing a phone ring, Sherlock noticed it was the pink one. Answering it, Sherlock waited some seconds before saying:

“Hello.”

“He-hello-Sexy…” A woman sobbed on the other line.

“Who is this?”

“I-I’ve sent you a little puzzle, just to-to say hi!” She continued, crying.

“Who is talking? Why are you crying?”

“I’m n-not crying, I’m typing-and this dumb slag is just reading it aloud.” The woman snivelled.

“So…the game starts.” Sherlock murmured.

“Sherlock?” Jane asked, looking at him.

“Ah, nothing.”

“No, don’t ‘nothing’ me, what did you mean?”

“I’ve been expecting this.” Sherlock merely replied.

“You…have…twelve hours to solve my puzzle, or I am-am going to be so…naughty.”

_Click._


	2. Trainers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Sherlock set to analyze the mystery of the trainers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry I was a bit behind on updates, I've been really ill for the past week. Any-who, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!!

That afternoon Jane found herself in Bart’s lab as Sherlock ran tests on the shoes. Sipping a soft drink, Jane sighed as she watched Sherlock stare into the microscope.

“I wonder who that woman was…” Jane said quietly, watching Sherlock.

“The crying one?”

“Yep. She must be so terrified right now…”

“It doesn’t matter who she is. She wouldn’t give us any leads to begin with. She won’t be able to tell us anything, because her kidnapper hid his tracks quite well.”

Throwing a disgruntled look at him, Jane set down her drink.

“Do try to remember a woman might die if we don’t solve this.” Jane remarked.

“Of course I remember, it would be illogical to forget, or delete that information.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about Sherlock.”

“Then pray, what are you talking about”

“I dunno. The fact that, a woman could be blown to bits if this isn’t solved?”

“And will thinking about her, help anything?”

“Motivation.”

“Our motivations are quite different. A crying woman isn’t enough to motivate me.”

“Then what? What is?”

“The game.”

“A game with people’s lives…sounds lovely.”

“Remind me again, you are a doctor?”

“You know that.”

“Yes. I also know, that instead of crying, they do something about it.”

“We are compassionate towards them as well! And I can empathize with people, even if it won’t help the case.” Jane argued back, crossing her arms.

“It won’t help _her_ , however. Think of all the patients upstairs-does snivelling at their bedside help them recover faster? No, it doesn’t.”

Shaking her head a little, Jane asked hesitantly:

“Suppose…that woman was me? How would you feel then, in that situation?” Looking up, Sherlock looked at her as if what she said was a laughable joke.

“As I do now. Crying over people doesn’t help them. You, of all people ought to know this, _Doctor_.”

Going back to his microscope, Sherlock continued to stare at the sample.

“Alright,” Jane muttered lowly, “ice queen.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hearing his text alert go off the umpteenth time, Jane nodded her head at him.

“You gonna check that? It’s gone off about ten times now.”

“Eight. Fetch me my phone.” Sherlock instructed.

“Where is it?"

 “My jacket pocket.” Arching an eyebrow, Jane gave him an annoyed glare.

“You can’t be serious. Can’t you get it yourself?”

“If you want me to have to start over my research, yes.”

Huffing out of her nose, Jane stalked over, and reached inside his jacket. Locating his phone, she roughly jerked it out and slammed it down beside him.

“Check who it’s from.” Sherlock ordered.

“Bossy today are we?”

Opening the phone, Jane saw it was from Mycroft.

_Sent 2:47: Report on Andrew West-M_

_Sent 2:52: What have you discovered on the death? -M_

_Sent: 2:55: Progress report on Andrew West-M_

_Sent: 3:00: Have you read over the report yet? -M_

_Sent: 3:05: Do keep in mind this is a time sensitive case. -M_

_Sent: 3:11: Andrew West, start with his fiancé._

_Sent: 3:15: Check the records, find family, friends, and acquaintances of Andrew West. -M_

_Sent 3:25 PM: Any progress on Andrew West’s death?-M_

“Hey, they’re all from Mycroft-”

“Delete them.”

“What? But why?”

“Because we aren’t accepting that case Jane, we are doing this one.” Sherlock announced stubbornly.

“He’s texted you a lot though.”

“The missile plans are out of the country by now, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Well Mycroft seems to disagree.”

“It’s not top priority if he’s at a dentist appointment rather than doing something about this.”

“How on earth do you know if he’s at a dentist appointment?” Jane queried.

“He always prefers talking if he can help it.” Sherlock replied.

“But how do you know the missile plans are long gone now?”

Sighing, Sherlock looked away from the microscope and turned his chair around to face Jane.

“Look, Andrew West clearly stole the plans, tried to sell them, and got killed for it. The End. But, my question is, why would my brother try to drag me away from something so utterly interesting, to something so painfully dull?” Sherlock mused, dragging his hand through his wayward curls.

_Perhaps Mycroft might know something about this case that he’s not telling us…_ Jane mused, looking over at the detective. Hearing a beep, Sherlock looked up at the computer. Scanning it, Sherlock’s face lit up. Just then, Molly came in.

“Any results?”

“Yes.” Sherlock gave a slight smile at his triumph.

Hearing the door open again, they looked to see a man in a form fitting t shirt enter.

“Molly, who’s that?” Jane asked, walking over.

“Oh, this is my boyfriend.” Molly gushed, smiling adoringly at the man.

“Jim. Hi.” Jim smiled, offering his hand to Jane who graciously accepted.

“Dr.Watson, but you can call me Jane.” Smiling at her, Jim then turned to Sherlock.

“Oh and so I get to meet the legendary Sherlock Holmes! On one of your cases then?” Jim walked closer, forcing Jane to move aside.

Narrowing his eyes slightly at him, Sherlock looked up at him.

“Jim works in I.T. upstairs. How we met you see, just your average work romance.” Molly giggled, taking Jim’s arm lovingly.

Laughing with her, Jim smiled fondly down at her.

“Gay.” Sherlock muttered.

“Wh-what?” Molly stammered, paling.

“Hem, nothing. I meant, ‘hey’.” Sherlock corrected himself, nodding at Jim.

“Hi.” Jim giggled, picking up a petri dish.

Dropping it on accident, Jim fumbled as he tried to pick it up, apologising all the while. Cringing at the man’s clumsiness, Jane pursed her lips.

“Well, I’d best be off…” Jim said, putting the dish back on the counter.

“So see you around...six?” Jim turned to Molly, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Um, ye-yeah.”

Kissing her cheek, Jim looked at Jane and Sherlock and smiled.

“Goodbye, Sherlock.”

Silent, Sherlock stared at his microscope.

“Goodbye, Jim.” Jane smiled at him, nodding.

“Bye.”

As soon as the door closed, Molly looked at Sherlock.

“What did you mean gay? We’re together, he’s not gay!!”

“Domestic bliss must be suiting you, you’ve put on four pounds since I’ve last seen you.” Sherlock announced, making Molly flush.

“Three and a half!” Molly snapped.

“No, four.”

“Sherlock.” Jane warningly intervened, giving Sherlock a very dangerous look.

“He isn’t gay Sherlock! Take it back!” Molly shouted.

“Oh please, with that much personal grooming to his hair!”

“Sherlock, this is ridiculous, _you_ put products in your hair.” Jane accused.

“No, I _wash_ it, I barely use product.”

At this, Jane rolled her eyes.

_Yeah, because it’s not like you don’t share a bathroom with me. You have more hair products than I do._ Jane wryly thought.

“His eyelashes are tinted, taurine cream, and then his underwear.”

“His…underwear…?” Molly asked weakly.

“Very visible, particular brand.” Reaching for the petri dish, Sherlock showed her a strip of paper with a number scrawled down.

“Left his number for me under the dish. I would suggest you break this relationship off before you get hurt.” Sherlock advised.

Tears stinging her eyes, Molly swallowed against the lump in her throat and dashed out of the room, leaving a startled Sherlock behind.

“Why is she…upset?” Sherlock slowly questioned.

“Because, Sherlock, having someone tell you your boyfriend’s gay isn’t something people want to be told. Least of all Molly Hooper! You know that she is sensitive!” Jane scolded him.

“I was saving her the pain. Isn’t that kind?”

“That was anything but kind, Sherlock. It was embarrassing and heart-breaking for her, you could’ve had told her more gently than the way you just happened to do!” Narked, Sherlock pushed himself up and walked over to Jane.

“What would you want me to do Jane? Have her tricked and deceived because I didn’t tell her? Or would you have wanted me to hold her hand as I broke in the news. D’you really think there is a kind way of breaking the news to her?” Shaking her head slightly, Jane realised he was right.

“You ought to apologise. I know a thousand ways that could’ve been made the news easier for her.”

“Apologise? For telling the truth?”

“No-just the timing, the way you said it, all of it could’ve turned out better.”

Looking over at the trainers, Sherlock walked back to them.

“Let’s see how you do.”

Frowning, Jane slowly joined him.

“Are you trying to change the subject??”

“No, the conversation is simply irrelevant to the current situation. Now, what do these shoes look like to you?” Sherlock tersely said.

“You…want me to try and deduce?”

“Obviously.”

“Hang on, no! You’ll laugh, because I’ll get it wrong, I just know it!” Jane cried.

“ _Try_.”

Sighing resignedly, Jane picked up the shoes.

“Ok…um, the shoes-”

Glancing over at Sherlock who raised an eyebrow, she sighed and corrected herself:

“-Trainers. They look like they’re from the eighties or nineties, so retro. And um, they seem to be brand new, never been used. No…”

Looking on the edges of the soles, and at the bottoms, Jane smiled.

“They have been used! See, it’s worn here! So, it is a retro shoe designed like an 80’s shoe, recently bought.”

“ _Sparkling_ form Jane. Anything else?”

“Um…a man’s shoe...wait, no, a boys, adults don’t write their names in the shoes.” Jane finished confidently.

Smirking slightly, Sherlock donned an _aren’t-you-cute_ smile.

“That’s it?” Sherlock asked.

“Um…yep. How did I do…?”

“Well! Really, really well!! You missed everything of actual importance, but y’know. Other than that, fine.” Sherlock stated sarcastically.

“Gee thanks.” Jane grumbled.

“Alright then, what do you deduce?” Jane witheringly asked him, handing the trainers over.

Taking them from her small hands, Sherlock turned them over a few times in his large ones.

“He loved these shoes. Anytime the shoes started to discolour, he would quickly whiten it. See?”

Tracing the white soles, Jane realized that Sherlock was correct.

“He changed the laces three-four times.” Sherlock also pointed out to her.

Taking out a magnifier, he pressed it into Jane’s hand and led her hand over the laces.

“Now what do you see?”

Concentrating, Jane’s eyes roved down the shoe before she began to notice something. Tiny skin flakes.

“…When he tied his laces, his fingers…the boy had eczema.”

Nodding proudly at her progress, Sherlock took it from there.

“The shoes are well worn on the inside, meaning the owner had weak arches. This shoe was made in Britain, and is at least twenty years old.” Mouth opening in disbelief, Jane looked over at Sherlock.

“Twenty years?” She echoed.

“They aren’t retro, they are the original copy.” Sherlock replied, pulled out his phone and typed in something.

Showing her a model of the shoes, she noticed the ad said: _Limited Edition._

“You’re right…”

“But there’s still mud on them Sherlock, they look brand new!” Jane pointed out, scratching some dried dirt off it.

“That’s because…someone kept it to look that way. I ran some tests, and the dirt is mainly from Sussex, but also has London dirt overlaying it. Meaning…” Rotating it slowly again, Sherlock thought for a moment before saying:

“He was in London for something…and then left them here.”

“But why…? That doesn’t make sense if you said he loved the shoes.” Jane asked, confused.

“Because something went wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Very.” Sherlock enunciated.

“A child who would never let his shoes get dirty, had to leave them behind…”

Suddenly it was as if the breath was taken from his lungs.

_“You don’t believe me do you? None of you do! He was murdered! Listen to me, listen!!”_

_“Take it easy son, we’re calling your parents.”_

_“Please, you don’t understand, you’re making a terrible, awful mistake!!” Clenching his fists into his hair, Sherlock shouted._

“Hey…Sherlock? You spaced out, you alright?” Feeling a warm hand on his shoulder, Sherlock looked up at Jane, shaking away the memory.

“Of course…it... makes sense now…”

“What does?”

“Carl Powers…this is it.”

“Carl…Powers? Who’s that?”

“You wouldn’t remember. No one would besides me.”

“Who is Carl Powers Sherlock?”

Turning to look at her, Sherlock’s eyes grew distant with a reminiscence of a time long gone.

“My beginning.”


	3. Poisoned Motives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes to term with feelings, and the first pip ends.

“What D’you mean your beginning? Did you know him?”

“No…he was my first case.”

“That was twenty years ago!” Jane exclaimed in surprise.

“And?”

“Started young, did you?” Jane remarked.

“Old enough to know something was not right with the case.”

“Very rarely in life are people given second chances…” Sherlock hummed, looking at the shoe once more.

“…When they receive them, they had better take the chance. There are no thirds.” Sherlock continued, setting the trainer down.

Putting his coat and scarf on over his aubergine shirt, Sherlock strode out, Jane jogging after him.

“Are we going back home?” Jane asked, trying to catch up.

“Yes, hurry up.” Sherlock directed, opening the door.

Once they were in the cab, Sherlock pulled out his mobile and started typing into it.

“You don’t remember this, do you? Ninety eighty-nine, young boy had a ‘fit’ of some sort during a swim match in Brighton, and died.”

“If it was in 1989, I was pretty young, so I don’t really remember this…”

Holding his mobile out to Jane, she took it and started reading the article on Carl Powers. It really did seem to be a tragic accident. During a swim meet, Carl Powers began having a seizure in the water and drowned. The autopsy had no idea on what happened.

“So, what did you find odd?” Jane asked slowly.

“I had seen Carl Powers before his death. His shoes…his shoes were important to him. After his death, I went to the locker, his shoes were not there. He would never lose his shoes, unless it was somehow tied to the murder.”

“So this boy was murdered…my question is, why?” Jane asked him, raising an eyebrow.

Jane frowned, looking out the window.

_Only six hours left…_ she thought to herself.

By the time they were at five hours, Jane felt even more edge. Five hours to solve this. Don’t, and an innocent woman will die. Not being able to stand it any longer, Jane stood up and walked over to Sherlock.

“Sherlock, we don’t have much time. If there’s anything I can do to help you, please tell me.”

Hearing her phone chime, Jane pulled it out and rolled her eyes.

_Sent 6:16 PM: Any developments on the missile plans? –Mycroft Holmes_

“Your brother is contacting me now…how did he even get my number?” Jane asked, annoyed.

“Hm, still texting? Must be a root canal.” Sherlock noted, smirking.

Getting an idea, Sherlock slowly rose to his feet.

“You said that you’d do anything to help me…”

Knowing what he was thinking, Jane tried not to be annoyed. She wasn’t certain, but she had a faint notion that Mycroft wasn’t _overly_ fond of her.

“Mycroft. You want me, to talk to him?”

“I’m busy. Put on something nice, go have a little ‘chat’, and come back.” Sighing, Jane got up and went to her room to get changed.

Coming down in business slacks and a blazer, Jane looked over at Sherlock.

“Should I tell him you haven’t even started the case yet?”

“Tell him whatever you like. Now go.”

“Fine. See you in an hour or two.”

After an annoyingly long wait in a rather snobbish waiting area, Jane was graciously allowed to see Mycroft. Honestly, did gentleman’s clubs even still exist?

“Sit down, Jane.” Sitting down awkwardly, Jane looked around the intimidating office before redirecting her attention to Mycroft.

“Hopefully you were not kept waiting long.”

Thinking back to the forty long minutes in that stuffy room, Jane looked at him with a bit of resentment.

“Nope, not too long.”

“How may I help you?” Mycroft asked, folding his hands.

“Sherlock sent me over to go get some more information on the missile plans, the victim, anything pertaining to the case.” Jane answered professionally.

“And is he working on the case?”

“Oh yeah, he’s…cracking away.” She unconvincingly answered.

“Is that so?” Mycroft smiled pleasantly, not believing a word.

“Mhm…” Leaning forward slightly, Mycroft’s gaze grew serious.

“Before I give you the information, I have a few…enquiries for you.”

“Go for it.”

“What is your and Sherlock’s relationship?” He asked bluntly, folding his hands together.

“Fine, he solves the cases, I help out.” Jane replied without hesitation.

“To a…personal aspect is what I meant.”

Stopping, Jane frowned.

“Why…?” She suspiciously asked.

“Mere curiosity.”

“You never ask stuff because of ‘mere’ curiosity.”

When Mycroft said nothing, Jane sighed and thought for a moment.

“Well…we’re friends, or he is mine at least.”

“Sherlock doesn’t have friends.”

“Well, he does now. End of story.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, really. Look, whatever relationship I have with anyone, including your brother, it isn’t any of your business alright? And frankly, it isn't your business what his relationships are either. He's a big boy, he can tie his own shoelaces." Jane said sharply, looking pointedly at Mycroft. 

When he did not respond, Jane continued. 

"So in the future, please don’t ask me questions about how my ‘relationships’ are. I can tell you right now, you won’t be getting an answer if you do. Now, can you please give me the information? I do remember that being the reason I’m even here in the first place.” Shaking his head, Mycroft pulled out a folder and handed it to her.

Opening it, Jane started looking through it.

“Twenty-seven, clerk at Vauxhall cross at the MI6. He was involved in the Bruce Partington Programme to an extent. No known terrorist affiliations.” Mycroft recited, as she skimmed over it.

“So, how did Mr. West die?”

“His fiancée said he left last night, and did not return.” Mycroft answered, rubbing his jaw as if in pain.

“And they found his body by some train tracks at Battersea, according to records.” Jane said, closing the folder.

“…You do realize that it could have been a suicide.”

Massaging his jaw again, Jane realized Sherlock was probably right about the dental appointment.

“Unlikely. We have already interviewed his family and friends, no suicidal behaviour was made.”

“I see…we still can’t write out that possibility, but…was there anything found on the body?”

“A travel card, unused.”

“Then, did he buy a train ticket?”

“None was found on the body.”

Looking at the map of where the body was found, Jane frowned and looked closely at it.

“His apartment is miles from the spot where he died. The train track area he was found at, it would’ve taken him hours to end up there since no transportation fare is in his records last night. How did he end up in this spot?”

“That, was something Sherlock was supposed to tell me. Has he found anything yet?”

“Er, no. But, he is working away at it.” Jane answered lamely.

“I see.”

Checking his watch, Mycroft stood up.

“Another time Dr.Watson. And…do be careful on just how close you plan on getting towards Sherlock Holmes.”

“Thanks,” Jane said icily.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Escorting her out, Jane looked at him sceptically. What on earth was _that_ supposed to mean? Shaking her head, Jane walked out.

“Three hours left…” Jane whispered, hailing a cab.

***

By the time she was home, it was already dark. Opening the door, she went up the stairs, her mind on the case, and what to do about Mycroft.

“Hey.” Jane greeted him, joining him at the cluttered table.

Staring into his microscope, Sherlock mumbled a hello, and then relapsed into silence.

“Thought this could help you dears.” Mrs. Hudson entered, setting them down steaming tea.

“Thanks Mrs. Hudson-”

“Poison!” Sherlock suddenly said.

“The tea poisoned? What are you going on about?” Mrs. Hudson asked in confusion.

“ _Clostridium botulinum_!!!” Sherlock bellowed, jerking from the microscope.

Jumping at his outburst, Mrs. Hudson fluttered out of the room.

“Sherlock?”

“Jane, his shoes! It’s one of the deadliest poisons in the planet!”

“And it was in Carl Power’s shoes??”

“Think! He wore those shoes constantly! It’d be an easier choice for the murderer!”

Standing up, he pointed at the shoelaces, which were hanging on a clothes line over the sink, secured by clothes pins.

“And he had eczema, so sneak the poison into his medication, and clostridium botulinum causes paralysis!” Jane finished excitedly.

Pleased with her response, Sherlock nodded.

“Precisely.”

“But how come the autopsy didn’t pick up anything?”

“It’s virtually undetectable and they weren’t even searching for that to begin with.”

“Sherlock, you. Are. Amazing.”

Blinking rapidly at her compliment, he chose not to answer and looked down at the shoes. Taking Jane’s laptop, he started tapping into his blog.

“Why are you typing this into your blog?”

“I know whoever is behind this is reading it. This is how I shall announce the answer.”

Typing, he wrote: _FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). Botulinum toxin still present, apply 221B Baker St._

Silent, Sherlock and Jane waited. Hearing the phone ring, Sherlock quickly answered.

“G-good boy, come and get me.” Then the woman dissolved into inconsolable sobbing.

“Tell me where you are.” Sherlock calmly directed.

When the woman wouldn’t stop wailing, he looked pleadingly at Jane for help. Taking the phone from him, Jane spoke to the woman.

“My name is Jane. What’s yours?”

“Um, Ta-Taylor.”

“Okay, Taylor, just tell me where you are, and we’ll send help. Please take in a few breaths for me, and tell me.” Jane asked softly.

Writing down the directions, Jane passed them to Sherlock. Staying on the phone with her until the bomb experts arrived, Jane did her best to keep the woman as calm as she could. Finally hanging up, Jane wearily stretched.

“Good job Sherlock. You were fantastic.”

“So were you.”

Rolling his neck, Sherlock winced when he heard a pop in his neck.

“What you get for looking into a microscope all day.” Jane teased.

Looking at the pink phone, Sherlock sighed and looked down.

“…when will we get another phone call?”

“I don’t know. This is where we wait.”

Ah yes, the waiting game.

“The killer kept those shoes all these years…” Jane said softly.

“Meaning, he’s our bomber.” Sherlock answered, surging from his chair.

Laying down on the couch, Sherlock put his hands together and studied the ceiling.

“Anything you need me for, Sherlock?” He heard Jane ask.

“Quiet. I need to think.”

Nodding, Jane got up and went to make herself some dinner. Hearing her phone ring, she checked it to see Sanford’s name. Picking up, she sat in her chair.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jane. Um, I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a bit.”

Smiling at her boyfriend’s thoughtfulness, Jane played with a strand of her hair and thought for a moment.

“Thanks, but um, we’re in the middle of a case, so I’m not actually sure if I can.”

“Oh…would it be alright if I came over again?”

She didn’t think Sherlock would mind.

“Yes! That’d be good, I’ll try and clean up a little.”

“Sounds like a date, bye, Love.” Grinning, Jane hung up and looked over at Sherlock.

“You don’t mind me having someone over?”

When he didn’t answer, Jane sighed and cleaned up a little for Sanford.

***

After Mrs. Hudson let him in, he hurried up with a movie and the take out.

“Hey Jane. Surprise.”

Holding up takeout, Sanford grinned and kissed her cheek.

“Oh, you didn’t have to! Thanks, I was probably going to order some later.”

“Thought it’d be good to take my game up. I have to admit, I’m kinda disappointed you didn’t want to go out.” Sanford told her, ascending the stairs.

“I want to be on hand for the case, Sherlock needs me around.”

“Oh that’s a big surprise.”

Hearing an annoyed huff from Sherlock, Jane decided it was safest to not have Sanford and Sherlock chat. Opening the takeout, Jane looked at his choices of takeout and started dishing it out politely.

“Tell me about the case then.”

Smiling, Jane began to talk about it (with the occasional adding of facts from Sherlock).

“Oh, that’s interesting. You only got that from the shoes?” Sanford asked Sherlock who had reluctantly joined them in the kitchen, phone in hand.

“Yes.” When Sherlock began typing something to Lestrade, Sanford asked Jane in a low voice:

“What even makes you believe he didn’t make it up?”

Arching an eyebrow, Jane looked amusedly at Sanford.

“One, Sherlock doesn’t ‘make up’ facts. And two, the murderer didn’t blow up an innocent woman, because Sherlock had the case down flat, it was fantastic! Besides, I recognized the symptoms of clostridium botulinum.”

Silently nodding in agreement to Jane, Sherlock smiled slightly.

“Wow. Just, wow, I don’t even know how you manage to keep up with the case.” Sanford said in awe.

“Let’s just say I’m a woman who knows what she’s doing.” Jane chuckled, getting out plates.

“To an extent.” Sherlock added cheekily.

“Shush it, You. Want some takeout?”

“I don’t eat while working.” Sherlock announced, walking out.

“Alright, suit yourself.” Jane shrugged, opening the crates.

She could tell right off the bat this was not the Chinese food Sherlock and she usually got. It looked like the kind of takeout you’d get from a poncy restaurant versus actual Chinese food. But it was indefinitely food, and Jane Watson wasn’t about to complain. After eating dinner and catching up, Sanford checked his watch and announced he had to go. Grabbing his jacket, Jane walked Sanford out.

“I miss seeing you at work you know.” He said softly at the doorway.

“Same. I miss the work itself also.” She added.

“Well, work tomorrow, I have to go. Goodnight Jane.”

Hesitating briefly, Sanford leaned in and kissed Jane softly. Taken aback, Jane looked up at him in shock.

“Oh! Sorry, I thought-”

Stopping him, Jane put her hand up to his shoulder and grinned.

“No! It was…nice. Goodnight Sanford.” She laughed, opening the door.

Going upstairs, Jane smiled to herself as she started putting away leftovers.

“You seemed to have enjoyed yourself.” Sherlock knowingly commented from his chair.

“Well…yeah. It is what couples do.” Jane said, shoving the food into the fridge.

“You might as well throw that out, Jane. You won’t eat it.”

“Yeah? Enlighten me on why I’d waste perfectly good food.”

“Because it isn’t the type of food you personally prefer.”

“Oh really? It’s Chinese food, just like what we always eat.”

Giving her an annoyed look, Sherlock began to explain the fundamentals of Chinese food.

“There are eight primary culinary cuisines that outspread past the Chinese borders. You and I, we prefer Sichuan cuisine, whilst Samuel-”

“-Sanford.” Jane corrected him irately.

“-Prefers Cantonese cuisine, and was attempting to impress you by trying to buy from a rather lavish looking Chinese shop in London, which is in fact, Yuatcha.”

“…Okay. It wasn’t the best Chinese food, I will admit, but at least he was making an effort.”

She was at loss at Sherlock’s behaviour. Why was he acting so odd about an innocent date? Sometimes she really didn’t understand him.

“I suppose.” Was all he said, before leaving the room entirely. While Jane truly cared for him, he did act rather peculiar at times. Shrugging to herself, Jane set herself to the task of cleaning up the kitchen.

“Perhaps he’s thinking about the case…” She mumbled to herself.

What she wanted to know, was who the poor soul would be next time? She could imagine it. Some woman taking the tube home from work, and then suddenly finding herself under a hostage situation. Just like hers.

It was supposed to be just a standard rescue mission. And how did it end? Bodies everywhere. Blood, stray body parts and viscera everywhere. She remembered how the scent of blood wafted in the air. The shouting, confusion. She could sometimes still feel the course burlap over her head, how she felt so trapped and scared. The cell…that freakish, hellish cell. And then the day…the day she shut herself in the box.

Shuddering, Jane squeezed her eyes shut, trying to chase away her dark thoughts.

“Stop thinking about it Jane.” She whispered roughly, clenching her fists.

Putting the last dish into the drying rack, Jane sighed and rested against the counter. Coming back in, Sherlock was carrying in pieces of wood, nails, and a hammer.

“What are you doing?” She asked, pushing herself off the counter.

“Hold these.” Sherlock said, handing her nails as he propped a piece of wood against a window.

“You know…we could call a repairman.”

“After the case. It will be a nuisance to have them in here.”

“True.” Jane nodded, handing him a nail as he nailed in the splintered board.

Shivering, Jane looked around the cold flat. Not only were they’re windows completely shattered but the gas was out as well. Bloody explosion.

“Why would someone go so far, do you think?” Jane suddenly asked, leaning against the wall beside the window.

“Boredom, obviously.” Raising her eyebrows, she huffed at his answer.

“Boredom. You think whoever is doing this, is out of boredom.”

Taking another nail from her, Sherlock pounded in the next board.

“Yes. Not many people can rival my mind. Undoubtedly, the same goes for him. When the bomber finds someone like him, naturally he’d act out to get my attention.”

“Oh, yes naturally.” Jane said sardonically, shoving the next nail at his palm.

“You’re upset.”

“Yeah.”

Puzzled, Sherlock threw an inquiring look at her.

“Why?”

“Naturally?” She repeated his words at him.

Setting the board down, Sherlock turned to face Jane.

“Does that bother you?” He asked.

“A bit, yeah. It does…how is that in any way natural? To want to put people’s lives on the line, because they had nothing better to do…I just…I don’t understand.”

“You are too moral to be able to understand.”

“Is it a bad thing to have morals and standards?”

“If it clouds your judgment, and interpretation of how the world is, then yes.”

“What’s your interpretation of the world then?”

Turning his attention back to the wood, Sherlock hammered into it silently.

“…It used to be quite austere.”

“…What…what changed that?” Finishing his job, Sherlock unrolled his sleeves.

“It’s late.”

Was all he said, before going to his room, the door clicking shut. Sighing, Sherlock slipped his shoes off and lay down, looking at the phone. Used to be? When did the fact that life had always been bleak even change? He’d never even noticed the change until she asked.

***

Bright and early the next day, Jane and Sherlock were back at Scotland Yard. Sitting in Lestrade’s office, they waited for him to arrive. Drumming his fingers impatiently, Sherlock continued to stare at the pink phone. The more Jane stared at it, the more she hated it. How could the colour pink be so freakishly ominous?

“You…alright? You’ve been tense all morning.”

“I’m fine.” Sherlock snapped, before he started rapidly tapping his foot.

“Tapping your foot won’t make the phone ring any faster.” Jane remarked absently, waiting for Lestrade to come in.

Ignoring her, Sherlock continued his actions, intensely staring at the phone.

“…Do you have any suspicions on who did it?”

Patience thin, Sherlock glared down at her.

“Improve this situation with your silence, if you please.” He bit out, before taking his vision off her.

Rolling a non-existent crick from her neck, Jane gave a tight lipped smile.

“I was attempting to take your mind off that mobile, because that’s what good friends do, but if you don’t really want to calm down, no one’s stopping you.” Jane coldly retorted, before directing her attention to a week old newspaper.

_Good friends…_ Quietly, Sherlock resumed the observance of the phone.

“Mornin’ Love birds.” Lestrade greeting them tiredly, carrying two cups of coffee.

Handing Jane one, he sat down.

“So, I found out somethings about the woman who was hostage. She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks and took her. Gave her a pager, which she had to read off of to deliver the message to you.” Lestrade explained.

“So…if she deviated at all, she’d get set off…” Jane sighed sadly.

“Never being in the line of fire himself…how clever.” Sherlock admiringly stated, making Jane look up at him.

“Sherlock!”

“Yes?”

Shaking her head, she looked down at her coffee. As if Sherlock would care what she had to say…

“You have one new message.” The pink phone’s monotonous voice announced.

Unlocking it, he clicked the message and listened. Three short beeps, and then one long beep.

“A countdown…interesting.” Sherlock murmured.

Receiving a photo, he clicked on it. A car, door open. Showing Jane and Lestrade a photo, he was about to speak, when Sally entered, phone in hand.

“Oi Freak, it’s for you.”

Passing him the phone, Sherlock grabbed it and put it to his ear, walking out of the office.

“Sherlock Holmes.” A few seconds passed, before a man shakily said:

“Y-you’ve gone to the police. That’s okay, they can’t help you…”

Eyes widening slowly, Sherlock swallowed. Another one. Noticing his grave expression, Jane instantly knew who was on the other line. The bomber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it was so difficult to write Jane and Sanford kissing. Ugh, it's so hard to write her with someone who I don't like pairing her with. Sigh...and Sherlock is finally starting to accept the fact he has those things called feelings! That's always worthy of a cheer. Until next time everyone!


	4. Seclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they go through two new victims, Jane gets a phone call or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit long this time. I had a lot of information to put in, stretching it out a tad. Oops! But, I am finally starting to be able to start chipping into the fluff aspect! Yay! I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

“What do you want this time?” Sherlock asked, drumming his fingers on his leg. 

“You were right about Carl Powers…clever you. I didn’t like Carl Powers much.” The man shakily read.

Tensely, Sherlock waited for him to keep speaking.

“He laughed at me, so I stopped his laughing. He shouldn’t have laughed at me.” 

Stealing one last look at Sherlock, Lestrade whispered something to Jane before slipping away.

“And you have stolen another voice now.” Sherlock said, his anger barely supressed.

Walking over to Sherlock, Jane gave the phone an inquisitive look, before casting a worried one at Sherlock.

“Yes. This is about you and me Sherlock.” 

Hearing cars whiz by, the chattering of people passing, and city noises, Sherlock looked at the ceiling. 

“What are all those sounds?” He asked, although he already knew the answer. 

“The sounds of life Sherlock, the-the sounds of life.” 

Hearing the man say that, Jane’s mouth slowly opened in the horrid realisation. Not only would this man die, oh no. This time, numerous people. 

“But don’t worry….” 

Taking a shuddering breath the man finished his sentence, voice higher at the end.

“I-I can fix that. You solved my puzzle in twelve hours. You have eight this time.” 

Click. Putting the phone down, Sherlock slowly sank onto the couch.

“…How long this time?” Jane asked quietly, sitting next to him.

“Eight.”

“And…other lives are at stake now?” 

“Yes.” 

Shaking her head slightly, Jane sighed, and took his hand.

“You can do it Sherlock.” 

“I know that.” He bit out crossly, but still let her hand hold his. 

 Sherlock didn’t know that, though. He was doubting himself. Just like the bomber wanted him to. 

“You solved it Sherlock. You can solve anything, so I know you can and will do this. Everything’s going to be alright.” 

“How would you know?” 

Thinking for a moment, Jane suggested: 

“Dunno. Faith, I suppose.” 

Smiling a little, Sherlock looked at the phone again. 

“….Okay, great. Thanks.” Lestrade said, hanging up.

Noticing them holding hands, Lestrade raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. 

“We’ve found the place that photo was taken at.” 

***

“The car was hired yesterday morning by a bloke by the name of Ian Monkford. Your typical city boy, banker. Told his wife that he’d be back from the business trip, but never returned. They found the car, with blood in it.”

“Has the blood been identified?” Jane asked, going under the police tape Sherlock held up for her.

“Yep, it’s his.” 

Looking into the car, Sherlock started snapping pictures of the exterior and interior of the car. 

“It’s you again.” Glancing up, Jane groaned inwardly. 

The last person she wanted to see today was Sally Donovan.

“Hello Sally.” 

“Still hanging with the Freak?” 

Casting a sideways look at Sherlock (who was pretending to ignore them) she glared at Sally. 

“He’s not a Freak.”

“Yeah, he is. Spend five years with him, then you can say that.” 

“What makes you think he is?” Jane asked in a lower voice. 

“Three years ago, there was a brutal case. Saw the body of a pregnant woman…laughed at the whole apparent irony of the crime scene or something.”

“You don’t understand how his mind works Sally. Just leave him alone.”

“Well, opposites attract apparently.” Donovan smirked. 

“Oh…no. He and I…no. We’re not a couple.”

Shrugging, Donovan replied: 

“Not my business. Maybe you should find a safer hobby other than cases however.”

Discounting her, Jane went over to Sherlock, who was leaning into the car. Taking a business card from the glove compartment, he straightened up. 

“No body?” Sherlock asked, slipping the card into his pocket subtly.

“Not yet.” 

“Have a blood sample sent to the lab.” Lestrade nodded, and turned to Donovan, murmuring instructions. 

At the assigned task, Donovan looked at him with disdain, but nodded. Eyeing the sobbing woman, Sherlock gave a lopsided smirk and started walking towards her.

“Sherlock…what are you about to do?” Jane asked. 

Pacing over, Sherlock worked up the crocodile tears. 

“Mrs. Monkford?” Sherlock sniffled, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. 

“Yes..?” She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. 

“Sorry, but I’ve already spoken with two policemen.” 

“Oh no, we’re not from the police.” Jane replied, looking over at Sherlock, wondering his plan. 

“Sherlock Holmes. Very old friend of your husband’s. We, um...”

Voice shaking, he swallowed hard as he blinked back his phony tears. 

“...We grew up together, him and me. He was my best friend.”

“I’m sorry, who? I don’t think he ever mentioned you.” Mrs. Munkford said suspiciously. 

“Oh, he-he must have done. This is ... this is horrible, isn’t it?” Sherlock choked. 

Pursing her lips together, Jane bit her tongue and watched him continue the act. 

“I simply cannot believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian – not a care in the world.” 

Smiling tearfully, Sherlock looked up at the sky as if he were remembering some beautiful memory. 

“My husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?” 

When Jane coughed a little to choke down a laugh, Sherlock subtly drew her behind him to avoid more suspicion.

“…Strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked casually, letting sham tears slide off his cheek, slightly stepping on Jane’s foot when she sniggered quietly.

“No, it isn’t. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that’s all.” She defended her husband vigorously. 

“That was Ian! That was Ian all over!” Sherlock said rather loudly.

Furious, the woman glared at him, all of her defenses raised. 

“No, it wasn’t. Who…are you?”

As if someone flipped a switch, his true personality returned, and his eyes turned cold.

“Wasn’t it? How interesting.” 

Turning around, he walked off, Jane following. Ducking under the tape Sherlock held up for her, Jane let out a small chuckle. 

 “Moving scene, truly. Almost had me in tears myself.” She teased him, smirking.

“From near laughter. You need improvement on the art of performance Jane, you nearly compromised the whole thing.” 

“Shut it, you. Why did you lie to her in the first place?” Jane asked, looking behind them at the woman.

“People don’t like telling you things, but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?” Sherlock quizzed her, wiping his eyes off. 

“…Past tense?”

“I referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined in. Bit premature – they’ve only just found the car.”

“ _She_ murdered her husband?” Jane asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Definitely not. That’s not a mistake a murderer would make Jane.”

“Yeah…you’re right. Then, what’s your lead?”

“Janus cars.” 

Taking the card he’d removed from the car earlier, he slipped it to Jane.

*** 

“Can I get you two? Coffee, tea?” The dealer asked, scratching his arm. 

“Fine, we’re on a schedule.” 

“Yeh…anyway, I don’t know what to say.” The dealer sighed. 

“Had you ever met Munkford?” Jane queried.

“Mm…nope, can’t say I did. He was just a customer, poor sod.”

“I see…oh, you’ve been away recently?” Sherlock asked conversationally, nodding at the man’s tan line. 

“Me? No, I haven’t had the time. I know my wife would love that however.” He laughed, cracking his knuckles. 

“I see. Oh…do you by any chance have any spare change?” 

“What for?” The man asked, pulling out his wallet. 

“Saw some cigarettes in the vending machine. I’m simply gasping for one.” 

Opening it, the man shook his head.

“Sorry, no.” 

“Oh well. Thank you for your time…it’s been most enlightening.” Sherlock smirked, heading out. 

“Sherlock…” 

“Yes?” 

“You use nicotine patches, so why did you ask for cigarettes?”

“Observant, Jane. I just needed to see his wallet.”

“Why?” 

“Because, Doctor, Mr. Ewert is a liar. Let’s go.”

***

Dropping some blood into a sample dish, Jane exhaled tiredly. While Sherlock was investigating the car again, she was examining the blood sample that was found in the car. Carefully dropping in drops, she frowned when the blood cells began to fizzle. That would mean the blood had been… Abruptly, the pink phone rang. Stopping, Jane looked over at it, wide eyed. Why didn’t Sherlock take it with him?? Hand shaking slightly, she drew in a breath and answered. 

“Hello.” 

“It-it’s okay that you’re not Sherlock. Because, I know you, Jane Watson.” 

A chill running down her spine, she looked at the phone. 

“The clues’ in the name, Janus Cars.” The voice shakily said.

“Why…why are you giving a clue?” 

“Why does anyone, do anything? Because I’m bored. I’m so…so…bored.”

“Why don’t you talk in your own voice?” Jane demanded. 

“Patience. I will be seeing you-you very soon, Jane. Very-soon.” 

Paling, she gripped the table for support. 

“We’ll keep this conversation between us, you and I. Or bad, bad things are gonna happen.”

With that, the line went dead. Ashen-faced, Jane watched the blood drop against the white table. This…was so much more than a sick game. Hearing her phone chime, she picked it up.

_Sent 12:20 PM: In car garage at Scotland Yard. Found something interesting, you should have as well. –SH_

Putting down her phone, Jane rubbed her eyes tiredly. She hadn’t gotten much sleep since this case. Already tired, and stressed, how would she hide this phone call from Sherlock? Who knew what this insane bomber would do if she told Sherlock? Most likely kill her, or even worse, kill Sherlock.

*** 

“Jane.” Sherlock greeted her as Jane approached.

“The blood’s been frozen.” She reported distantly.

Giving Lestrade a smug told-you-so face, Sherlock took off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket.

“If the blood was frozen, and exactly a pint, that meant he stored the blood, and then used it. Our problem is solved, Lestrade.”

“It will be, once you bloody explain!”

“Besides car dealing, they provide a rather…unique service. If you have any sort of trouble like money, marriage, whatever, then Janus Cars will help you disappear.”

“It’s in the name…Janus was a Greek god who had two faces.” Jane murmured. 

“Yes…”

Narrowing his eyes at her as if he wished to make a remark, but thought better of it, Sherlock turned to Lestrade once more. 

“Monkford, was in a sort of trouble, financial supposedly, since he’s a banker. Couldn’t see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was abandoned, with his blood on the seat…”

“So…where is he now?” Jane asked, folding her arms.

“Colombia.” Sherlock grinned, slamming the car door shut. 

“What??” Lestrade gasped, eyes wide. 

“Mr. Ewert, the dealer at Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian note in his wallet. Told us he hadn’t been abroad lately, but when we talked, I could see his tan line clearly.” 

“Like the first time we met. No one wears long sleeved shirts to a tanning bed.” Jane added. 

“What does that have to do with you two meeting?” Lestrade frowned in confusion.

“Long story.”

“There was also the bug bites on his arm.” 

“Bug bites?”

“Yes, he kept scratching his arm, and the bumps indicated bugs. Anyhow, arrest both him, and Mrs. Monkford.”

“Her too?” Lestrade raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, she was in on this. She planned to split the life insurance with Janus Cars after her husband was pronounced dead.”

“Well…I’ll get on it then.”

Leaving, Lestrade left the two alone.

“Good job Sherlock. We need to go deliver the message.” 

Scowling, Sherlock suspiciously watched her, but said nothing.

“Alright.” 

*** 

_Congratulations to Mr. Monkford on his relocation to Colombia._ Pushing enter, Sherlock looked over as the phone immediately rang.

“He-he said you guys could come get me. Please, please help!!”

“Tell us where you are.” Sherlock spoke clearly. 

After they heard the sound of police arriving, Sherlock hung up.

“Good job.” Jane absently said, stirring her tea.

Staring at her, Sherlock said nothing.

“What?” Jane asked uneasily. 

“You. You’ve been acting odd today.”

Sighing, Jane dug into her pockets and pulled out the pink phone. 

“Here…you left this with me and the blood samples.” Eyes widening, Sherlock looked at the phone and then her. 

“What did he say?”

“Please. Please don’t.” Jane suddenly hissed, putting her hand on his shoulder to stop him. 

“What, why?” 

She felt as if every eye on the world were on her when it was only Sherlock’s.

 _“We’ll keep this conversation between us, you and I. Or bad, bad things are gonna happen.”_ That man’s voice wafted back to her. He could be referring to her…or Sherlock. And she’d rather hang than have to watch something bad happen to Sherlock.

“Jane?” Sherlock’s voice rang, his hand curling around her wrist slightly. 

“What happened?” Feeling a cold sweat, she shook him off her. 

“No-I can’t. I have-he’ll…” 

Standing up, Jane swiftly turned on her heel.

“I have to call my Mum.” 

Running up her stairs, Jane slammed the door shut, and sat on the bed. She could hear Sherlock go up the stairs, but stopped as if changing his mind, and went down again. 

_Good_ , she thought. _Just leave me alone._

She might as well call her mother. It had been nearly three weeks since she last contacted her. Not since…that book. 

“Hello?” Her mother’s high and airy voice sounded.

“Hello Mum.” 

“Well about time Jane! You haven’t answered not one of my calls! I’m your mother, and it is a responsibility to keep in contact! How on earth am I supposed to contact you if you won’t pick up every now and again!?” Her mother angrily yelled.

“I’ve been busy. Anyway, I did call.” 

Enduring her mother’s random prattling, she drifted off to thoughts of the case. Just how serious was this case truly? When would they get their next phone call? 

“Jane?? Jane, are you listening??” The plummy voice asked.

“Um, yeah. You were saying…”

“Oh for heavens sakes, answer the question!! Are you, or are you not coming to visit me soon?”

“Mum, I can’t. I have work, and I can’t just take off.” Jane sighed, exhausted.

“Hmph. You’re just like your father when you use that excuse.” Her mother sniffed. 

“Don’t. Compare me to that man. I am nothing like Dad.” Jane snapped. 

An uncomfortable silence fell on the other line. 

“Jane, I didn’t mean it like that!” 

“Sure you didn’t. I have to go now, bye.”

After she ended the call, Jane felt like screaming, she was so frustrated. Jane changed into sweat pants and a t-shirt, and crawled into bed. Just like her Dad…her Mother had some nerve at times. Throwing her cell phone on her bed, she lay down and turned off the lamp. What was she going to do?

*** 

The next morning, the first thing Sherlock did when she came downstairs was…take her to breakfast, oddly enough. 

“What’s the…occasion?” Jane asked suspiciously, biting into her egg.

“Are you feeling better?” 

“I-was-fine earlier-” 

When Sherlock knowingly raised his eyebrows at her, she gave a resigned sigh.

“…Yeah. But if you’re trying to get me to talk about that call, it’s- ”

“-I know.” Sherlock nodded, sitting back. 

“Well…alright then.”

Lapsing into a comfortable silence, Jane took a sip of coffee before asking: 

“Has it…ever really occurred to you that-”

“-Probably.” 

“Sherlock.” Levelling him with a glare, Jane started again.

“I’m being serious. Has it occurred to you that this guy is messing with you for kicks?” 

“Of course it has. And it isn’t some ‘guy’. It’s Moriarty.”

“You’re-positive? Could that be our bomber? 

“Yes.” 

Hearing his phone chime, he pulled out the pink phone, where one message awaited. Clicking it, he heard three Greenwich beeps, before a photo appeared. Opening it, he found a picture of a woman with Botox, heavy makeup, and in her late forties smiling at him. Giving a sigh of exasperation, Sherlock showed her.

“This could be anyone!”

“Oh, it could indeed. Unless, you are nice and watch Telly with your landlord.” 

“I’m sorry…?” Sherlock frowned in confusion.

Laughing, Jane got up and took the remote that controlled the café television. Switching through a few channels, she found what she wanted and returned. 

“This makeup artist died a few days ago. It’s a mildly big deal, and it’s been all over the news. Apparently her brother found her in their home, dead. An infection from a gardening tool apparently.” 

Silently, Sherlock watched the news. Hearing the pink phone ring, Sherlock answered. 

“Hello?” 

“This one…is…a bit…defective. Sorry…” 

Freezing, Sherlock heard the rasping sound of an elderly woman. 

“She’s blind. This is ... a funny one. I’ll… give you ... twelve… hours.” 

Sitting heavily down, Sherlock closed his eyes.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I…like…to…watch you…dance.” 

And with that, the phone call ended.

“Who is it this time?” Jane asked softly. 

“An old woman.” 

Mouth dropping open slightly, Jane shook her head. 

“That’s…that’s terrible. How much time do we have?” 

“Twelve hours.”

*** 

“Connie Prince, 54.” Molly recited, showing them the body. 

“I thought the news said she was 48!” Jane snorted, shaking her head.

“The news write anything these days.” Lestrade scoffed as Molly pulled the white sheet from the corpse’s head. 

“She was quite popular, my Mum loved her show. Did you ever watch it?” Molly asked, scrawling down some notes. 

“No.”

“Oh…well….uh…it’s sad, she was going places…” Molly stammered. 

“Not anymore.” 

Taking out his magnifier, he looked at the deep gash in her hand. 

“So… tetanus bacteria enters her bloodstream from this wound.” 

“How long has she had it?” Jane asked, taking the report from Lestrade. 

“’Bout a week, so the report says.”

“Well…”

Taking a close look at the hand, Jane frowned.

“Either the one who told the police was lying, or didn’t really know. This wound is quite fresh actually…and it would take 8-10 days to die from this.”

“So, you’re saying…” 

“This wound is clean. Someone must’ve made this after she died. Meaning…” 

“Meaning we need to find out more about Connie Prince. Jane, you did say you wanted to help.” 

“Yeah, of course.” “Then find out everything you can about Connie Prince. Find backgrounds, information, interview her brother.” 

“On it. I’ll text you if I find out something.” 

With that, Jane grabbed her jacket and hurried out.

“Sherlock…there’s something we seriously haven’t thought about.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. This bomber, why is he doing this? If this woman’s death was suspicious, why point it out in the first place?” 

Looking back at the body, Sherlock was momentarily silent. He was truthfully, just as anxious as the rest of them. He knew people’s lives were on the line, he knew that this was more than it seemed, and most importantly, he knew he somehow threatened Jane.

“…Good Samaritan, I suppose.” 

“Who straps bombs on random victims??”

“Bad Samaritan.” Sherlock wryly corrected himself. 

“ _Sherlock._ I’m being serious. I am cutting you a lot of slack. I’m letting Jane work on the crime scenes, and I am trusting you’re making the right choices about this. That’s a lot of chips I’m throwin’ in. So can you at least tell me what we’re up against?” “Something new.”


	5. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."  
> -Confucius

Hours later, Sherlock was pacing back and forth in 221B.

“Connection, connection, connection, connection, there has got to be some kind of connection.” He muttered frustratingly under his breath.

“Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him. The bomber’s iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What’s he doing – working his way round the world? Showing off?” Sherlock rambled, jabbing his finger into a picture of Carl Powers, before running his hand through his curls.

Hearing the pink phone ring, he answered.

“Hello.”

“You’re-enjoying-this-I can….tell…”

Stopping to heave a desperate sob, the old woman then continued.

“Three hours left….boom…b-oom.” The woman wheezed before the phone clicked off.

***

“Okay…this should be it…” Jane muttered, looking at the brother’s address.

She’d had quite the time even getting the address from the police, and before that, she worked to find more records on the Prince family background. The door opened to see a handsome man, with dark features.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, hello. I’m here to see Kenny Prince.”

“You the woman from the papers?”

“Yes, hello.” Jane smiled politely.

Soon, she was ushered into a gaudy living room.

“Can I get you anything?” The man asked her.

“Oh no thank you.” Jane said politely as she sat on a loveseat.

“Thank you Raoul. He’s been my rock since this whole incident. I don’t know how I’d go on without him.”

Not sure how to respond, Jane simply kept her silence.

“My sister and I…well we never saw eye to eye, but I loved her so much.”

Cringing when a hairless cat climbed onto her lap, Jane tried to pull it off. She could not stand cats.

“To the public, she was…?”

“Oh loved! _Adored_! I saw her take girls who looked as if there home was a sewer, and turn them into these princesses.”

“Ah, how wonderful.” Jane smiled, as she silently tried to push the cat off her lap.

“Well…at least she is gone from this…veil of tears.” He dramatically sniffled, whipping a purple silk scarf out of his pocket.

“Absolutely.” Jane said lamely.

“I…I just don’t understand why. She was so vibrant, alive!”

“Well… It’s more common than people think. The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un...”

Suddenly Kenny sat heavily beside her, and put his hand on her knee.

“…treated.” She finished, barely containing her annoyance.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Um…Mr. Prince?”

“She left me this…this glorious house, but I…have no one to share it with. I am so lonely.” Kenny snuffled.

“Well I…"

"If only, there would be one to share it with. I'd love that." He said lowly, looking at her with cow eyes. 

"Th-that’s why my paper wanted to get the full story straight from you. You sure it’s not too soon?” Jane shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh no.” Kenny answered immediately.

“Alright. I’ll ask you some questions then.”

“You fire away.” Kenny said, attempting to look intensely into her eyes.

In her opinion, it looked more creepy than anything. Watching the cat trot across the floor, Jane reached up to scratch her nose. Smelling something that smelled like disinfectant, Jane raised her eyebrows.

“Er…before we begin, might I ask where the washroom is? I need to er-powder my nose, or something like that.”

Once Raoul showed her the bathroom (Which was just as hideous as the rest of the home), she whipped her phone out and dialled Sherlock’s number.

“Jane.”

“Hey. Get over here, ASAP. I found something you might want to look at.”

“What?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“Well, I can’t say here.”

“Why is your voice so…echoey? Are you in a restroom?”

“Ehm, yeah. I was trying to get away from Prince. He’s a creep.” Jane hissed through the phone, nervously glancing towards the door.

She wouldn’t dismiss the possibility of someone eavesdropping.

“What do you need me to do?”

“I just need you get some things for me. Got a pen?”

“I’ll remember Jane.”

***

Getting off the phone, Sherlock started hunting for what Jane requested.

“It’s a shame that poor girl died. She was a lovely thing, just messed with herself to much, they all do. She taught me how to do my colours.”

“Your colours?” Lestrade asked, frowning in confusion.

“Yes, like clothing choices. For instance, Jane shouldn’t wear that crème jumper she’s got. Drains her apparently.”

“Jane looks fine in her clothing Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock said offhandedly at her as he put his equipment in a bag.

“Bye Sherlock! Go catch that murderer!” Mrs. Hudson waved after him.

***

He knew what Jane was saying by ‘creep’. She was a brave woman to have put up with him for at least an hour.

“Ah, this was my assistant that I was telling you!” Jane smiled, obviously relieved he was here.

“Hello, it’s so nice to meet you.” Sherlock smiled, shaking his hand and looking closely at it.

“I’m so sorry for your-”

“-Oh yes, yes, you are to kind.”

“Shall we?” Jane asked, her impatience showing.

As soon as Kenny looked in the mirror to fix his hair, Jane helped Sherlock pull out a camera.

“You’re right Sherlock. The bacteria got in another way.”

“Oh yes?” Sherlock smirked.

“Yeah!”

Nodding at the camera, Jane turned to Kenny.

“Could we take your picture?”

“Oh yes-but not to close. I’m raw from crying you see.”

Nearly rolling his eyes, Sherlock noticed the cat.

“Was this Connie’s?”

“Yes. Her name is ‘Sekhmet’, it’s an-”

“-Ancient Egyptian goddess, how interesting.” Sherlock said, lifting the cat into his arms.

“Sherlock, er, ‘light reading’?” Jane coughed.

“Um right…”

Flashing the light directly into Kenny’s eyes, Sherlock motioned for Jane.

“Hey-what?”

“Two point eight.” Sherlock hinted, as he took another picture.

Taking the cat’s paws, Jane sniffed them lightly and felt them.

“Hey what’s going on??”

“Well, that’s all! Thank you Mr. Prince!” Jane chirped, throwing the equipment into the backpack.

“Wha-what? But you-”

“Oh deadlines, deadlines. Thanks!”

Hurrying out with Sherlock, Jane left the confused man behind. Laughing, Jane threw her head back.

“Thank God for you! I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“Hm, for a case this important?”

“But I know how it was done Sherlock! I do!” Jane crowed.

“It wasn’t the cat.”

“What? No, no it was! It’s how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.”

“What a nice idea.” Sherlock patronizingly remarked.

“That’s…got to be it…right? I mean, he put it on the paws of her cat. It’s a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable.”

“I thought of it when I saw the cat scratch on her arm. But did you not just spend an hour with this man? You tell me?”

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s way too stupid to have come up with something that clever. He talked about the house a lot. He could’ve murdered his sister for money.”

When Sherlock doubtfully looked at her, she sighed.

“Or not.”

“It was for revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Raoul, the houseboy. Kenny was constantly tormented by his sister publically. He was constantly being mistreated on that silly show. Finally he had enough; fell out with her badly. It’s all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so…”

“Where’d you get all of that information?”

“Different internet sources.”

“You got it from the internet? Way to research, Sherlock. But what about the disinfectant on the cat’s paws?”

“He keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, and scrubbed within an inch of its life.”

Leaning forward, Sherlock smelled her hair.

“You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn’t come into it. But Raoul…definitely.”

“I don’t understand, why Raoul?”

“You’ll see.” Sherlock smiled, walking faster.

_Trying to maintain an air of suspense, as usual._ Jane thought, before huffing and following him.

***

After rummaging through records, Sherlock triumphantly burst into the room where Lestrade was working, slapping a folder on the desk.

“It’s all here Lestrade! Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince’s houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn’t tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince – it was botulinum toxin.”

“Hey-that was the same thing that killed Carl Powers!” Jane exclaimed as Lestrade opened the folder.

“Yes.” Sherlock confirmed, as Lestrade scanned over the records.

“How did he do it?”

“Her Botox injection. Raoul was in charge of doing them for her.”

“And in each one, he put a small dosage, eventually killing her.” Jane finished.

“Oh no, he’s been doing this for months.”

“How do you know that?” Jane asked.

“My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul’s internet purchases. He’s been bulk ordering Botox for months.”

“Wait…”

Narrowing her eyes, Jane looked slowly at Sherlock.

“Alright, my office, c’mon you two.”

As Sherlock turned to go, Jane stopped him.

“Wait, Sherlock. How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you known about this??” She demanded.

“Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.” Sherlock shortly answered, trying to walk away from her again.

Putting her hand on his chest to stop him again, Jane glared at Sherlock.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve known for a while…and haven’t said _anythin_ g?? There is some poor old woman, who could be dying, she’s terrified, and you’ve said _nothing_?” Jane asked, her voice getting louder.

Eyes smouldering, Sherlock loomed over her.

“I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don’t you see? We’re one up on him!”

Letting him go, Jane watched him walk away, that anger still not dissipated. In Lestrade’s office, Sherlock pulled up his blog and typed in:

_Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, Botox._

As soon as he pushed in ‘enter’, the phone rang.

“Hello?” “Please…” She wheezed.

“Help…help me.”

“Tell us where you are. Address.”

“His voice…”

“No. Stop. Don’t tell me anything about him, stop!”

“…Was so soft.”

Hearing an ear shattering kapow the phone suddenly disconnected.

“Hello? Hello?? Are you still there??? Hello?!” Sherlock called into it, but was only met with silence.

“Sir, there’s been an explosion!” Sally yelled, rushing in.

Getting up, Lestrade rushed away, leaving Jane and Sherlock alone.

“Hey…”

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Jane diffidently asked:

“What happened?”

“She-the phone...she started to describe his voice-and-”

Putting his head in his hands, Sherlock tensed.

“…And the explosion.” Jane finished.

“We were one step ahead of him! One step!” Sherlock snapped angrily.

When Lestrade nodded towards the door at the pair, Jane took the cue and helped Sherlock up.

“Let’s just go home today, alright?”

“There’s still much to do-”

“-Like what, Sherlock? Sitting in Lestrade’s office, for a phone call that probably won’t happen for hours? No, you need to go home for today.” Listlessly, Sherlock obeyed and walked out the door with her.

***

“Here.”

Handing him a mug of tea, Jane sat in her arm chair and sipped her own. Drinking it silently, Sherlock stared out the boarded windows.

“Are you alright?” Jane asked worriedly.

“I’m fine.”

“Just…I want you to know, that it’s not your fault Sherlock. You did everything you could and-”

“-But it still wasn’t enough!” Sherlock shouted, slamming his mug on the table and standing up.

“Yes it was Sherlock! You did everything you could!” Jane shot back.

“What would you know?? What would you know about this?! You are one of the best doctors I’ve ever met! So how could you know?!” Sherlock snapped waspishly at her.

Flipping the latches of his violin case open, he whipped it out and angrily began playing ‘Chaconne’. Recognizing the sounds of the music, Jane sighed and put their mugs by the sink. Having to watch Sherlock sink into such an angry, regretful temper put her off as well.

“I just…wanted to say, that I know. The reason I am a good doctor, is because I made mistakes. I messed up, I made mistakes. Sometimes I was too slow, and I lost the patients. ”

His playing did not even pause, but Jane knew he was listening.

“I know what it’s like to have to watch something happen, thinking it was your fault. Even if we know it’s not our fault, it gives us something to blame, even if it’s ourselves.”

His angry features softening, Jane continued.

“We’ll start again tomorrow, alright? Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Jane, I...what I said, I didn’t mean to imply that-”

“It’s alright. I understand.”

And with that, Jane hurried up her stairs, leaving Sherlock to his forlorn self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sherlock...there are indeed times he feels bad for hurting Jane's feelings.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jane have a bit of a row, and Jane plugs into her own investigations.

It took a lot to make Sherlock feel like a prat. And right now, that was exactly how Sherlock felt. He was used to the common insults, he learned how to turn his back to them, and shut them out. But Jane…why did he treat her like that? Sometimes, he really was quite stupid.

*** 

The next morning, they had dragged out the Telly and were watching the news together. 

_“…The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people, is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company...”_

“Man…” Jane sighed, picking at her toast. 

“Just once, he was in the line of fire. That’s all it took.” Sherlock mumbled, his eyes not leaving the Telly. 

“Just because she described the voice, he killed her.” Jane sighed sadly.

“Usually, he must stay above it all. He organises these things but no one ever has direct contact with him.”

“Hold on. You mean that people come to him with issues, and he fixes up different stuff for them?” Jane asked, watching the screen.

“For a fee.” 

“Wha-how…that’s…” Jane huffed, disgusted. 

“…Novel.” Sherlock breathed, impressed.

Looking away, she looked irritably at Sherlock.

“Well, obviously I lost that round – although technically I did solve the case.” Sherlock continued in a woebegone tone.

“I don’t really think that’s the most crucial issue here, Sherlock.” Jane scowled, crunching on her toast. 

Turning their attention to the Telly again, they watched Raoul being escorted out of the house by the police, with Kenny watching in the background. 

“It’s still almost unbelievable, that story. Do you think it’s possible Raoul went to the one in charge of all of this?” 

“It’s likely. He certainly is taking his time now, however.” 

_What did Sherlock mean by that?_ Jane thought, frowning.

“Why do is this man doing this? Why is he playing this barbaric game? Is he trying to see how long he can go without getting caught?” 

“No…I believe he is searching for a distraction. Just like me.” 

Smiling, Sherlock put his hands to his chin. Switching off the Telly, Jane got up and stalked towards the kitchen to clear her dishes. 

“Well then. I hope you two are happy together.”

“Jane? You’re upset?” Sherlock asked, sitting up slightly.

“Human lives Sherlock! People out there, who could die! I-just-so I know, D’you even care? Do you care that people are going to die if you don’t solve this?!”

Getting up, Sherlock marched in after her.

“And what good would worry do for them?” 

When an uncomfortable silence filled the room, Sherlock glared at her.

“Not a rhetorical question, Jane.” 

“Nothing.” She bit out angrily.

“Exactly. So do forgive me, if I do continue not to make that mistake.” 

Furious, Jane turned her back on him.

“You…find this easy, not to care about anyone?” 

“ _Very_.”

“Ah.” 

“Does this surprise you?”

“No. No. It doesn’t.” Jane dejectedly responded. 

Turning, they locked eyes. His eyes, cold as steel, were so different from her soft hazel-brown ones. 

“You. You’re disappointed in me. Is that it?” 

“Oh wow, the detective solves another mystery.” 

“Don’t make people into heroes Jane. If they existed in this world, I wouldn’t be one.”

Staring at him, Jane felt sorry for him. What made Sherlock’s attitude to be like this? What made everything a game to him? Then, a cold realisation came upon her. Was she merely a mystery, a game to this man? She recalled Mycroft’s words: _“Sherlock finds you fascinating doctor. You are to him, like a puzzle. There are parts of your life that even Sherlock cannot deduce. And that is the game. He wants to find more out about you….. He would walk out on you. Once he solves this ‘puzzle’ of yours, he will indefinitely grow bored of you.”_

The spell was broken when his phone chimed. Scooping it up, Sherlock’s face lit up. 

“View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo.” Sherlock excitedly announced. 

“Jane, check the papers, and I’ll look online ...” 

Speech slowing, Sherlock watched her. Head lowered and her fists clenched, Sherlock knew she was angry at him.

“You’re upset still. So you won’t help. And all that talk about caring. Your' bark is really worse than your bite, isn't it?”

Pulling out his phone, Sherlock quickly whipped out his phone. Pulling out the newspapers, Jane decided to search if there had been any reports near that area. Annoyed that he couldn’t find anything, Sherlock dialled in a number.

“It’s me. Have you found anything between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo?” 

After being on the phone for a few minutes, Sherlock hung up and shrugged on his coat. 

“They found something. Are you coming, or are you staying here to pout, or go to your Stephen?” 

“It’s Sanford, you poncy jerk.” Jane growled, sliding on her jacket. 

*** 

Walking onto the crime scene, Jane and Sherlock met with Lestrade. Staring at the body, Jane took out her notebook and jotted down notes. The body of a large man wearing black trousers, a white shirt, black socks and no shoes. Getting on his knees, Sherlock started looking through pockets, and observing his wrists.

“Any ideas?” Lestrade asked.

“Seven.” 

After searching for three minutes, Sherlock got up and started typing rapidly into his mobile.

“Dead for about 24 hours.” Jane reported, taking his pulse. 

“Apparently not though. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated, by the looks of it.” 

“Yes, you’re right Lestrade. I mean, look at his throat. I believe he was strangled before he was thrown in. And also, look at his shirt.” Jane pointed at the man’s once white shirt. 

“What about it?” Lestrade frowned, observing the fabric.

“Something was torn off near the left side of his shirt. I think some kind of badge was there. Whoever killed him, didn’t want us to see where he worked.”

“What else can you tell about him?”

“Um, there’s a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and over there. In his late thirties, I’d say. Not in the best condition.” Jane observed, taking more notes in her notebook.

“He’s been in the river a long while. The water’s destroyed most of the data.” Sherlock cut in, striding over.

“But, I can tell you one thing! The lost Vermeer painting’s a fake.”

“Huh?” Both Jane and Lestrade echoed. 

“This is just _brilliant_! We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates-” Sherlock rambled, pacing back and forth.

“Oi, wait, wait, wait. Just wait a second. What are you on about??” 

“Haven’t you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it’s turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.”

“Yeah, but what’s that gotta do with this stiff?” 

“Have you ever heard of the Golem?” Sherlock asked. 

“A horror story, isn’t it?” Jane guessed, wracking her brain from where she’d heard that. 

“A Jewish folk story. A gigantic man made of clay. It’s also the name of an assassin – real name Oskar Dzundza – one of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style.”

“This is a hit?” Lestrade scowled.

“Oh yes, definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.”

“But what has this gotta do with that painting? I just don’t see!” 

“But you _do_ see, you just don’t _observ_ e.” Sherlock snapped in frustration.

“Alright, alright, girls, girls, just calm down. Sherlock? Could you walk us through this?”

After Sherlock and Lestrade had a lengthy discussion, Jane quickly reviewed her notes.

_-Shirt and trousers: formal, but inexpensive._

_-Dressed for work_

_-Museum worker_

_-Security guard_

_-Works night shifts regularly_

“Alex Woodbridge. Tonight they will show the rediscovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant?”

“The dead man knew something about it! Something that would stop the owner getting paid all of that money for the painting!” Jane said, snapping her fingers.

“Correct. He knew exactly what was wrong with the painting.” Sherlock nodded.

“Fantastic, Sherlock!” Jane praised him, slapping her notebook shut.

“Come on, we need to find what we can about the painting.”

***

“It doesn’t make sense. Why?” Sherlock mumbled to himself.

“What doesn’t make sense?”

“The phone. He broke the record Jane, it is odd, don’t you think?”

“This whole case is odd.” 

As if an idea dawned, Sherlock suddenly tapped on the cabbie’s window and changed directions. 

“Waterloo.”

“Waterloo?” Jane echoed. 

Once the cab pulled over, Sherlock hopped out. 

“I’ll be back.” He promised, hurrying over somewhere. 

Leaning forward, Jane noticed the homeless boy from recently. Exchanging a few words, Sherlock quickly passed him a few notes and returned. 

“Was that Tim?” 

“ ‘Raz’ at the moment. But yes.”

“What were you doing?”

“Investing.” 

*** 

Once they reached the gallery where the fraud painting was, the cab rolled to a stop. As Jane tried to get up, Sherlock shook his head and ushered her back in. 

“There’s something else you need to do. Find out about the gallery attendant, Lestrade will text you his address.” 

“Oh, alright. But…” 

“But?” Sherlock asked impatiently.

“Well, I thought you might want to. You could find out clues just by looking at his bed y’know.” Jane slowly said. 

“You are just as good. We don’t need to look at his flat anyway, we need to find out about his personal life. Which, doctor, is your expertise.”

“I’ve already told you not to call me Doctor…”

“Oi! You two gonna go on jabberin’?” 

Slamming the door shut on her, Sherlock hurried into the gallery. Sneaking in through the employee entrance, Sherlock watched for a guard going off duty. Spotting one, he snuck into the lockers, and waited. As soon as he heard the tell-tale sound of the doors shutting, he found the man’s locker. Picking the lock, Sherlock opened it and grimaced. The man was two sizes larger, and it smelled atrocious. The sooner, the better though.

Dressing quickly, Sherlock then located the painting. He had around four minutes before someone would come in, it was best to hurry and find the mistake. Hearing long heels click across the smooth floor, Sherlock inwardly sighed. Had four minutes really gone by? And still, nothing seemed wrong with the painting. 

“Don’t you have something to do?” He heard a woman airily ask. 

“Just…admiring the view.”

“Yes, lovely, now get back to work. We open tonight.” She snapped, her Eastern European accent strong. 

Turning to face her, Sherlock quickly strode up to her. 

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?” She sniffed. 

“That the painting is fake.”

“I am sorry??” The woman raised her voice angrily. 

“It’s a fake. It has to be. It is the only explanation. You’re in charge, aren’t you, Miss Wenceslas?”

Face flushing slightly, Miss Wenceslas furiously clenched her manicured fists. 

“And pray, who are you?”

Getting closer to her, Sherlock interrogated her. 

“Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?” 

“Golem? Woodbridge?? What is this all about?!”

“Or are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them?” 

“It is not a fake!”

“It is a fake. Don’t know why, but there’s something wrong with it. There has to be.”

“Yes??? Well, you should very well know, I can have you sacked this instant.”

“Not a problem!” Sherlock dryly exclaimed. 

“No?” 

“N-o. See, I don’t even work here.” He smiled sarcastically. 

“How did you get in here?”

“Please.” He jeered. 

“I must know.”

“The art of disguise, is knowing how to hide in plain sight.” Sherlock responded, unzipping the security jacket, and tossing it to the ground. 

“Who are you??”

“Sherlock Holmes.” 

“Am I supposed to be impressed by that?” She sneered.

“Oh, you _should_ be!”

Putting the security cap behind him, he clanged open the doors, and was gone.

*** 

After a text from Mycroft, Jane was in the cab once again, and out to speak with Andrew West’s fiancée. She’d almost forgotten about it, what with Sherlock and the bomber. She hadn’t gotten much information about the gallery attendant, other than a love for astronomy. Sighing, she braced herself. One of the hardest things to do, was to speak with people who had loved ones die.

_Hearing the woman shriek uncontrollably, Jane tried her best to calm her. “I’m sorry...” Jane clumsily said in Pashto._

_Chest heaving, the Afghan woman wailed as she clutched the boy to her chest, rocking back and forth._

_“I’m sorry…I’m sorry.” Jane tried again, putting a hand on her shoulder._

_Shaking her off as if Jane burned her, she shrieked angrily at her._

_“What did she say?” Jane asked the translator next to her._

_Hesitating, the translator could not meet Jane’s eyes._

_“I order you to tell me.”_

_“She…said ‘Why did you let my son die? You…you are a failure to those so-called soldiers.’”_

Shaking away the dark memory, Jane got out of the cab. A red eyed, blonde haired woman opened the door.

“…Yes?” 

“Are you Lucy Smith?” 

“Ye-yes. And you are..?”

“Hello. My name is Dr. Jane Watson. I’ve been sent here to investigate your fiancé’s death. May I come in?” 

“Of course…I’ll, put some tea on.” Opening the door a little wider, Lucy ushered Jane in. 

“I’d like to start to say I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” 

“Yes. Thank you.” Lucy absently said, setting a steaming mug of tea down in front of Jane. 

“I mean it. It is not easy to lose a loved one, and then have an investigation pend.” 

“But-but I’m happy there is one. I-don’t want Westie’s death to just go unjustified.”

After a few minutes of silence, Lucy started talking. 

“We met at my friend’s wedding. He was just standing there, so handsomely. He’s kind of shy though, so he didn’t ask me to dance. My friend made me go and talk. Then we met again a few months later, we were together ever since.” Eyes watering, Lucy continued.

“We’ve been dating for a year, and in this living room, we were having dinner-and he just proposed to me! Said-said he couldn’t live without me, and now-he-he’s gone…just like that. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Handing Lucy a tissue, Lucy gratefully nodded. 

“Lucy…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your doing.” 

“I need to know though, did Andrew ever do anything that ever seemed suspicious to you?” 

“Suspicious?” 

“Did he ever happen to go meet strange people, go places suddenly, and act secretive about his work?” 

“He acted secretive about his work because he had to! This was all a part of his job! What are you trying to ask?”

“Well…we need to investigate if he ever ah…might’ve sold plans or information.” 

Shaking her head over and over, Lucy frowned.

“No. He wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t.”

“It is a precaution.”

“Westie wasn’t a traitor. That is a horrid thing to say!”

“I am sorry, but please, you must understand that-”

“That’s what they think, isn’t it, his bosses?"

“He was a young man, about to get married. He had debts ...” 

“No! Everyone’s got debts-and Westie wouldn’t want to clear them by selling out his country!!” Lucy’s voice raised.

“…Could you tell me what exactly happened that night?”

“We were having a night in, just watching a DVD. He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone.”

“And you don’t know who?” 

Putting her head in her hands, she shook her head and started sobbing. 

“N-no…no.”

“Well, thank you for everything Lucy. I know it wasn’t easy. And I promise, I will find who did this.” Jane vowed, standing up.

Walking her down, Lucy opened the door to see a man coming in carrying a bike. 

“Joe.”

“Hey Lu. You doing alright Love?” 

“Yeah. Mrs. Watson, this is my older brother Joe.” 

“You with the police?” Joe asked.

“Kind of.”

“Well tell ‘em to get off their arses! This is ridiculous!” He snapped. 

“Yes, we are doing everything in our power.” She answered, turning to leave.

“Westie didn’t do it Mrs. Watson!” Lucy called after her.

“I knew my Westie. He-he was a good man. My good man.”

And sitting on the stairs, Lucy began to cry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really feel so sorry for Lucy. Can you imagine being engaged, and then having your fiance murdered?


	7. Stars and Supernovas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they race against the game, more of the feelings, game, and manipulation unfurl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been awhile since I've updated. I had a bit of trouble writing this one out.

Nearing nightfall, Jane moodily sat in the back of the cab. Tired, hungry, and guilt-ridden, she sighed as the cab pulled over. As soon as she exited the cab, Sherlock opened the door to Baker Street and hurried out.

“Oh, hey.” She greeted him tiredly.

“What do you know about the gallery attendant?” He asked, walking towards a homeless girl.

“Alex Woodbridge, lived in a poorer side of town, had a flatmate, he-”

“And? What else?”

“And-”

“-That’s it? Nothing about the personality, hobbies, or even habits??”

“Well if you’d ever let me finish my train of thought now and again, I could _finish_ my bloody sentences!” Jane snapped, until Sherlock lowered his eyes in contrition.

“The museum was only a job to him. He actually was an amateur astronomer.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Sherlock suddenly said:

“Jane, get a cab.”

Walking over to the homeless girl, Sherlock held out his hand. Digging into her pockets, the homeless girl passed him a wadded piece of paper.

_VAUXHALL ARCHES_

Smiling, he opened the cab door.

“I have not been idle these past hours, Jane. Let’s go.”

Getting in after Jane, Sherlock gave instructions to the driver.

***

Driving up to a homeless area that Jane recognized as Vauxhall, she looked over at Sherlock.

“What are we doing here?”

“Investigating.”

After walking in between an alley, Sherlock looked up.

“Look, Jane.”

“The stars…you almost never see them here.” She breathed, looking at them in awe.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Thought you didn’t care about the solar system.” Jane remarked, walking again.

“That does not mean I cannot appreciate it.”

“When I was in the Army, I could almost always see them. They were what kept me going when I was-” Stopping herself, Jane grew silent.

“Was what?”

“Never mind. What exactly do we need to do right now?”

Going into a subway area, Jane saw many homeless people either sleeping in sleeping bags, boxes, or in makeshift shelters.

“Nice place.”

“Homeless network. They truly are my eyes and ears of the city.” Sherlock whispered proudly.

“How many do you have?” Jane queried, arching an eyebrow.

“Nearly 200.”

“200!? I was thinking only 100, at most! I mean, since Tim is your main man.” Jane whispered back in surprise.

“Yes, because he’s the one I trust the most.”

“So they give you information, locations, and you help them out?”

“Yes.”

“That’s brilliant.” Jane praised him.

Shining a torch around, Jane suddenly let out a quiet gasp. A shadow of a man rising, who had to be at least seven feet tall.

“What-who-?”

“That’s Golem. Our assassin.”

Pushing them both two a wall, Sherlock kept his arm over Jane.

“Stay quiet.” He breathed.

“What is he doing here?” Jane whispered into his ear, barely heard.

“He had to lay low, so he chose this spot.” Sherlock hissed back at her.

Reaching for her gun, Jane suddenly realised it wasn’t there.

“Crap-Sherlock, I-”

Pulling out her gun, Sherlock handed it to her.

“Really shouldn’t just leave it on the table. You have a dangerous job, you know.”

Suddenly breaking into a run, Sherlock and Jane dashed after the man.

“Stop, or I’ll fire!!” Jane yelled as he scrambled into a car.

Firing a shot at the car, it only cracked the back slightly as he sped off.

“Argh! It’ll be weeks before he shows up!!”

“Wait-if he’s the one who killed Woodbridge…”

Suddenly realising something, Jane gasped and dashed away.

“Jane?? What did you find out??”

“I’ll explain in the cab, c’mon!!”

Hailing a cab, they hurried in.

“London Planetarium, and step on it!” Jane ordered the driver.

“What’s going on?”

“There was a message left on the machine for him, the night he died. It was from a Professor Cairns, about how Woodbridge had found out something, and she wanted to see him. If he killed Woodbridge, then he just might go after Cairns.”

“Jane, you are brilliant.” Dropping a kiss on her cheek, Sherlock split a grin.

“We just might catch him!”

Cheeks flushing, Jane nodded slightly.

“Er-yeah.”

***

As soon as they arrived, they dashed out. Bursting open the doors to the Planetarium, Sherlock and Jane realised with sinking hearts, that they were too late. Golem was strangling Professor Cairns to death. Jane remembered distinctly, how everything was dark except for the projector splaying out videos of the universe, with a narrator dully speaking.

“STOP!!!” Sherlock bellowed.

_“... many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas.”_ The narrator droned.

Giving a look of surprise, Golem, reached forward and snapped the Professor’s neck with a sickening crack. Falling forward, her fingers hit the machine that operated the presentation. Immediately, the room would fall into darkness, and then dim light again, over and over.

_“... Exploded into supernovas.”_ Came the televised voice.

“Jane!” Sherlock shouted, trying to focus.

“I’m fine! I’ll go ‘round! Go!” Jane shouted, trying to find Sherlock in the confusing light.

_“... Discovered by Urbain Le Verrier in eighteen forty-six.”_

“Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?” Sherlock asked, looking around.

Abruptly, a huge hand clamped over Sherlock’s mouth and nose with one hand, a hand on his neck. Giving a startled cry, Sherlock struggled.

“Oi!”

_“... Composed mainly of hydrogen. Their light takes so long to reach us...”_

Rushing over, Jane butted into Golem, making him stagger. When he still didn’t release Sherlock, she whipped out her gun, aiming at his head.

“Let him go, or I _will_ kill you.” Jane warned steadily, her eyes a dark green and blue.

Releasing Sherlock and throwing him roughly to the ground, Golem tackled Jane, making her hit her head. Prying the gun from her fingers, he clenched his hands around her throat, making her vision spot.

“Sherlock-get away-” Jane choked, feebly struggling.

With an angry growl, Sherlock got to his feet. Picking Jane up by the collar of her shirt, Golem threw her into Sherlock. Tumbling back to the floor, Sherlock pushed Jane off his body and stood up. Putting his hands into a punching position, Sherlock looked up at the man, who was looming over him. Trying to throw a punch, he failed, and Golem kicked him to the ground, yet again. Trying to choke him, he gave an angry roar when Jane jumped on his back and found a pressure point in his neck.

_“... Many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas.”_

Letting go, Golem grabbed the collar of her shirt again, and flipped her over onto the ground, making her cry out in pain. Taking a break for it, Golem ran for the doors. Grabbing the gun, Sherlock fired two shots, and missed. Punching the ground in frustration, Sherlock shakily sighed.

“Jane, hey Jane?”

Shaking her, Sherlock felt his heart slightly skipped when she didn’t stir.

“Jane, c’mon!”

Groaning slightly, Jane’s eyes fluttered open. Sherlock was hovering over her, with one of his hands threaded through her hair, searching for injuries. The other lay beside her head.

“…Sherlock?” She rasped.

Wincing at the pain in her neck and head, she stayed laying down.

“Are-are you alright?” She murmured, putting her hand on the nape of his neck gently.

“Yes. Yes. Don’t move your neck.” Sherlock answered, frowning as he made her stay down.

“Why…?”

“It might be broken.”

“Sherlock…” Smiling, she shook her head.

“You must be in shock. I’d probably be dead right now.”

Staring at her, Sherlock said nothing.

“What’s wrong?” She asked him, tilting her head slightly.

Leaning down slightly, Sherlock suddenly had the insane notion to…kiss her. Frowning, he shook his head. What on earth came over him? Did he get hit on the head to hard? Sighing, Sherlock pulled away. Chuckling weakly, she shakily sat up, before noticing a gash all the way down her shirt. Quickly, she crossed her arms across her chest.

“He tore my shirt quite badly. It’s a shame to, I quite liked this one.”

Averting his eyes awkwardly, he quickly shrugged off his coat and directed her arms through the sleeves.

“Sherlock, I can do this myself-”

Buttoning it for her, he made sure she was comfortable.

“You’re injured to, no doubt.” Jane frowned worriedly.

“Worry for yourself for once, Doctor.”

Helping her up carefully, Sherlock put his fingers through her hair again. When she hissed in pain when he touched the back of her head, he frowned. Hearing the faint sirens, Sherlock knew that they would most likely be there for quite some time.

***

Exhausted, bruised, and bloody, Sherlock and Jane tiredly slumped in the cab. After an inquiry, and paperwork, they were both sent to the hospital for even more paperwork and inquiries. Sherlock diagnosed with bruised ribs, and Jane with a slight concussion. Not only was there traffic, but it was quite a ways from home. Yawning tiredly, Jane slumped against Sherlock.

“I’m sorry we didn’t catch Golem.”

“We would’ve been killed if he continued.”

“True…but thank you Sherlock, for defending me. I really would’ve died, had you not intervened.”

“Hm. It is what partners do, I am aware. I would be lost without my blogger, after all.”

“How true. How did you ever manage without me?” Jane jested.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock admitted seriously, staring at her.

Her phone buzzing, Jane checked it.

“Sorry, it’s Sanford.” Answering it, she started chatting away with him.

Feeling almost void, Sherlock clenched his fists slightly. Why did he feel so irritated whenever Sanford came up? He felt agitated, insecurity, and annoyed. Why? It could not be as if he were jealous. What an absurd notion.

Huffing slightly, he looked out the window.

***

Entering 221B quietly, Sherlock and Jane tiptoed up the stairs, avoided the creaky third stair, and pushed open the door to their flat.

“Something a bit stronger than tea I think.” Jane commented, going to the pantry, and pulled out a bottle of scotch.

“I always save this for these kind of days.” Jane laughed.

“I didn’t know we had any.” Sherlock remarked, accepting the glass.

“We do. It was a gift from Harry.” Sipping the drink, Jane revelled in the slight burn at the back of her throat.

“Sherlock, don’t worry. We’ll figure this all out.”

“I’m not worried. I’m in control.” Sherlock swore, draining the cup in a gulp.

Shaking her head, Jane took another sip. No he didn’t. He hadn’t a bloody bit of control since the beginning. When Sherlock coughed slightly from the scotch, Jane chuckled.

“Lightweight.” She teased, taking his cup away.

“I don’t tell you to do this often Sherlock but, think you should call it a night?”

“Why?”

“It’s been a few days, and you can barely keep your eyes open.”

“I can.” Sherlock argued back.

“Really? Then prove it. Lie on that couch over there, and in your head, count up to five minutes.”

Closing his eyes, Sherlock lay down. Three minutes however, he was sound asleep. He may fool others, but certainly not her. She knew he was human. His body had needs, which he tried to ignore. Sherlock could trick her more than she cared to admit, but not when it came to his physical needs. She was a doctor after all.

Getting an extra blanket, she carefully put it over him. Smoothing out his hair, she leaned forward and gently kissed the crest of his cheekbone.

“Goodnight.” She whispered, before going upstairs.

***

Yawning, Jane slipped a fresh shirt and jeans on before combing through her tangled hair. After the last few days, she and Sherlock had barely caught a wink. However… Frowning, she worked on a stubborn gnarl. …She couldn’t help but having a constant feeling of unease. Putting her shoes on, she went down the stairs for some breakfast.

“Morning.” Jane greeted him.

Not answering, Sherlock’s eyes stayed glued to the laptop screen. Clicking on the kettle, she made herself some toast.

“Sherlock, earl grey or morning…” Slowing, she looked to see what he was doing.

“Why’re you on my blog?”

“Have you seen this?” He asked, motioning towards a video on her blog.

“No…what is it?” Silent, Sherlock clicked the play button.

_“Who lives in a house like this…?”_ Someone mumbled, the door to 221B being nudged open.

_“I’m clean into your house, I’m cleaner than your house.”_ The soft voice continued, going up the stairs.

_“Smell bacon, and some apple pie. Where is Mrs Hudson? Hellooo.”_ Going up the stairs, the camera zoomed around the empty 221B Baker Street.

_“So here we are. Sherlock Holmes HQ.”_ Camera veering over to the skeleton with the headphones, he sighed.

_“Headphones. Distracting him from that insufferable violin, perhaps?”_ Rummaging through their stuff, he mumbled:

“ _Boring, box, another box, a Union Jack pillow, how boring. Oh…”_ A gloved hand picking up Yorick, a chuckle resounded.

_“I wonder how he’d look at my house. Look at all the skulls…still in your goth years?”_ Going over to Sherlock’s music stand, the hand picked up Sherlock’s recent piece,

‘Tranquillitas Mea’ Camera going down the stairs, a chilling whisper was heard.

_“Until next time, Sherlock Holmes.”_ And the camera went black.

Jane felt as if the very wind had been knocked out of her. Sinking into her chair, she shook her head.

“H-how…how did he get in here?”

“I imagine through the door.”

“Sherlock! A killer went rummaging through our stuff!! What if Mrs. Hudson had come out at that moment?” Jane exploded, running her hands through her hair nervously. 

Quiet, he looked over at his music stand. The fact that the bomber had picked that particular music sheet made him…uneasy. Rubbing her temple, Jane felt sick to her stomach.

“I wish this case would just end.”

“Why? It’s rather fun, don’t you think?” Sherlock commented lightly, closing her laptop.

“Fun?!” Jane snapped, turning on him.

“People are dying Sherlock, someone broke into our flat! God knows what he knows about us now!”

Turning off the kettle, Jane angrily clenched her fist.

“We need to find out how that painting is a fake Sherlock. We’ll go as soon as possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The talented "Akai Kokoro" made some gorgeous art for this story! Unfortunately, I am not tech savvy, and I don't really know how to upload it on this. But, once I figure it out, I would love to show you all them! Thank you so much for reading!


	8. Countdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The countdown ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guess what?? I got a tumblr blog for this! I've been meaning to for awhile, I just haven't had time. On it, I'll post sneakpeaks, do some Q and A's! If you're interested in checking it out, here's the link. http://janelockholmes.tumblr.com/

“It’s a fake. It has to be.” Sherlock said, looking the painting up and down.

“Obviously it’s not! Inspector, they are all wasting my precious time!” Miss Wenceslas cried, frustrated.

“There is something about it that is fake.” Sherlock fervently insisted.

“It has gone through every test known to science! It isn’t a fake!”

“It’s a very good fake then. Surely you know it is, don’t you Miss Wenceslas?” His pink phone ringing, Sherlock answered.

“The painting is a fake!”

Nothing but small breaths were heard on the other line.

“Oh c’mon, you want to know how it is. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Silence.

“Time. Just…give me time. You’ll give me that much, right?”

“Ten…” A shaky boy’s voice resounded.

“A boy! A child…” Jane gasped.

“Ten seconds…how are you gonna solve it in ten?!” Lestrade yelled.

“How is it a fake?? How can I prove it???”

“Nine…”

Turning to Miss Wenceslas, Sherlock yelled: “This kid will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!”

When she opened her mouth, he shook his head.

“Eight…”

“No. Shut up. Only works when I figure it out myself.”

“Seven…”

“Must be something, staring at me right in the face.”

“Sherlock, come on…” Jane urged under her breath, pacing.

“Six…”

“Woodbridge knew, but how??”

“Five…”

“He’s speeding up!” Lestrade cried.

Staring at small white dots in the painting, Sherlock whipped out his phone and started typing.

_“... Discovered by Urbain Le Verrier in eighteen forty-six…Exploded into supernovas.”_ Sherlock recalled the narrator at the planetarium.

“In the planetarium Jane! You heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!” He yelled, shoving the pink phone into her hands.

“Sherlock, hurry!!” Jane yelled.

“Four…”

“What’s brilliant?!”

“Three…”

“This is beautiful!” Sherlock exclaimed.

“Two…”

“Sherlock!!” Lestrade bellowed.

Grabbing back the phone, Sherlock hurriedly said: “The Van Buren Supernova!”

Silence.

“P-p-please…is someone there??” The boy shakily whispered.

Handing the phone to Lestrade, Sherlock smiled.

“The Van Buren Supernova, so-called. Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight.” Sherlock stated, smiling at the flabbergasted curator.

“If it happened in eighteen fifty-eight, how could it have happened in the 16th century?” Jane asked, crossing her arms.

_Sent 11:30 am: My patience is growing thinner by the moment, doctor. –Mycroft Holmes_

“Er, Sherlock?” Not hearing her, Sherlock continued chatting.

_Perhaps it’d be best for him to work this out alone. I don’t want to pull him from the case._ Jane thought, slipping quietly away.

***

“I-if I had known, that there was a little kid’s life at stake, I-I’d never-”

“It’s interesting. Bohemian stationery, an assassin named after a Prague legend, and you, Miss Wenceslas. This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it. Is that where this leads?” Sherlock asked, hands under chin.

A steely silence filling the air, Sherlock looked over at Lestrade.

“What are we dealing with, Lestrade? What can we charge her with?”

“Criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact at the very least. The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flats...”

“I didn’t know about any of that!! Please-please believe me!!” Miss Wenceslas sobbed.

Knowing she was telling the truth, Sherlock stayed silent.

“I-I just wanted my share of the thirty million. I found an old man in Argentina. Genius. His brushwork was perfect, could fool anyone. I didn’t know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine. It was just an idea, a spark which he made a fire.”

“ _He_?” Sherlock asked, slowly straightening.

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know.” She admitted.

When Lestrade started laughing at her, she angrily shook her head.

“It is true!! I don’t know the man, but he helped me connect with people I needed…his people.”

“How many times did you contact him?”

“I myself, never directly spoke with him. But there were whispers, whispers of him that reached me.”

“And did these ‘whispers’ go by a name?”

Silent, she stared at her folded hands.

“Yes…Moriarty.”

***

“Thanks for letting me look.” Jane told the manager, tugging her neon safety vest over her.

“Yeh, thanks _for_ lookin’! You with the police?”

“In a way.”

“Hmph, can’t stand ‘em.” The man growled, as they walked down the train tracks.

“What, the police??” Jane blinked, surprised.

“No, the jumpers, y’know? They’re selfish. It’s all over for them in a sec, but the people driving the train? How’re they s’possed to live with ‘emselves?”

“Ah.” Jane nodded, looking around.

“Did you guys clean up the spot he died at?”

“Nah, there wasn’t much to clean. Anyway, this was the spot. Give a shout when yer off!” The manager gave a friendly wave and hurried off.

“Thanks!” She shouted, waving back.

Tracing the track with her finger, she talked to herself.

“That’s not right though. The morgue reported that his head and neck were smashed in. Blood is extremely prominent in the head area, so it’s weird that there’s almost no blood. Which means…” Thinking for a moment, Jane snapped her fingers. “This isn’t the actual spot, he died somewhere else!!” Giving a fist pump, Jane grinned.

“Very good.”

Startled, she turned around.

“Sherlock! Thought you hadn’t noticed I had gone off.”

“Of course I noticed.”

“And I thought, that you weren’t helping in this case…or am I wrong?”

“I’ve been keeping up with it, obviously. I now have time to work on it myself.” Sherlock replied, looking at the tracks over her shoulder.

“Okay. We need to find out where his actual murder spot is.” Jane said.

“Already done.”

“Seriously?”

“Andrew West’s fiancée’s brother.”

“Wait-the biker dude?”

“Biker what?” Sherlock frowned, confused.

“Lucy’s brother??”

“Yep. Tim found his flat for us. Come on, we have a bit of burglary to perform.”

***

“How do we know he isn’t here, right now?” Jane asked anxiously, as Sherlock picked the lock.

“He isn’t.” Swinging open the door, the two hurried in.

“The missile defence plans haven’t left the country, otherwise Mycroft’s people would have heard about it.” Sherlock said, going into the living room.

“So this means, that her brother still has the missile plans?”

“Joe Harrison has been keeping them close. Probably not sure how to sell it.” He continued, looking at the window sill.

“Sherlock, there’s…dried blood.” Jane said, looking behind him.

Hearing the door open, Jane tensed. Going towards the door, she looked up at Joe as he picked up his bike over his head to throw at her. Gun out and loaded in two seconds, Jane’s eyes turned to steel.

“Just…don’t. I really don’t enjoy firing .303 bullets into people’s heads. I doubt you’d enjoy it either, so just put the bike down.” Jane ordered.

Putting the bike down, Joe nervously cracked his knuckles.

“Let’s talk.” Jane said, motioning to a couch.

Sinking on it, Joe bent his head.

“I’m only gonna ask you this once, and I _really_ hope you’re honest. Did you kill Andrew West?”

“By accident…yeah. What-how-how am I gonna tell Lucy??” He whispered, pale.

“What happened?” Jane questioned him.

“I-I got in with a bad crowd, y’know. Drug dealing, what not. But I got in too much. I was way over my head. Real bad people were out to get me. Westie and I, we went out drinking one night. By the end of the night, he was plastered. Kept tellin’ me all about his missile plans.” Stopping for breath, he wrung his hands nervously. “So as I was going to take him home, I noticed a file in his pocket. I knew those were the plans. So I stole them. Few nights later, he came in, and was yelling. He knew I took them, I didn’t know what to do. So, we started getting rough, and I shoved him, and he fell down the stairs. Dead. Didn’t know what to do with the body, so I just sat and thought.”

“Then a neat little _trick_ came into your head.” Sherlock dryly said.

Standing up, Joe walked towards the window.

“There are trains that go past my flat every day. So, when a train came, I drug his body on one, and off it went.”

“It could have gone all the way to the other side of England, but the train switched directions.” Jane stated.

“I guess.”

“Do you still have the missile plans?” Jane asked.

Getting up, Joe got it from a panel in the floor.

“Here. But you’ve got to understand-I’d never purposely kill Lucy’s fiancé!! I love my sister!”

“Love her enough so that you can trick her fiancé, so that he could be facing life in prison. I see.” Sherlock said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

As the police carted him away, Sherlock turned to Jane.

“We’ve had four pips, and one more to go.”

“We’re almost finished! One more, and we’re done!” Jane said, sighing with relief.

***

That night, Jane and Sherlock were at their flat. Jane, typing away at her blog, felt relieved that the whole ordeal was almost over.

“No! Of course it’s not the father, look at the turn-ups in the jeans!!” Sherlock yelled at the telly, glowering.

Sitting back, Jane turned to look at Sherlock.

“Enjoying the crap telly?”

"You and Mrs. Hudson used to watch Connie Prince’s show. And if I am not mistaken, I know you watch a soap opera.”

“Shut it. Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?”

“Yes. He threatened to give me a knighthood…again.” Sherlock muttered disdainfully.

Laughing, Jane looked over at him.

“Sherlock, I am still waiting.”

“What for?”

“For you to admit, that perhaps it would have done you a small amount of good to know the solar system.”

“Didn’t do you any good.” Sherlock grumbled.

“True. But as I am reminded nearly every day, I am not the world’s only consulting detective.” Jane countered.

“Touché.” Sherlock remarked.

“Anyway, I need to go over and see Sanford. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen him, and I need to tell him what’s been going on lately.”

Pulling on her cardigan, Jane put her phone into her pocket.

“Sherlock, we have some leftovers in the fridge, eat some. And if you don’t blow up something while I’m gone, I’ll even get the grocery bill this week. My treat.” Going down the stairs, Jane buttoned up her cardigan.

"Oh, wear something warmer out dear!" Mrs. Hudson fussed at Jane’s minimal warmth.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'll be fine, I'm only going to be gone for about an hour." Closing the door firmly, Jane walked, lost in thought.

"Oh, um, excuse me!"

Looking up, she saw Molly's boyfriend walk up.

"Jim was it..? Can I help you?"

"Yeah, actually. I think I got off at the wrong stop, I was wondering if you could help me."

"Of course! Where were you trying to go?"

"This restaurant called The Natural Cafe. Know where it is?"

"Actually, I pass it sometimes on my way to see my boyfriend. I could walk you there."

She could just drop him off, then grab a cab.

"Oh, I don't need any favours."

"No, it's really alright, I need some fresh air."

"So how's Sherlock doing?" Jim asked after a stretch of silence.

"He's been pretty good. How's Molly?"

"She's doing well, yeah. She's been telling me about the cases, they sound strenuous."

Molly didn’t know all that much about the cases.

"Um...they are." Eyeing him, Jane felt a cold feeling down her spine. Something was not right.

"You two chasing criminals day in, day out, must be thrilling. Especially with Connie Prince. Amazing theory on the cat."

Stopping in her tracks, Jane looked him in the eye.

"How do you know about that?" Backing away slowly, Jane's eyes widened.

"Oh, Molly's told me all about it."

"The only other person who knew my theory was Sherlock, so...how do you know that?" Backing up even further, Jane tried to devise ways to escape. "It's been you all along, hasn't it?"

Smiling, Moriarty looked up as he pulled a gun out of his belt.

"They said you were smart. I think you are too smart for your own good. Now come with me, we don't want anything to happen to Sherlock's pet, do we?" Seeing a car pull up, Jane felt sick. She had no choice but to follow.

***

Closing her eyes, Jane tried her best to block out the men. Hands chained to a pipe, Jane winced as she felt the heavy weight of the bomb strapped to her.

“Go to your next job boys. I want to have a little chat with the good doctor.”

Opening her eyes, she watched Jim-no-Moriarty stride in, wearing an expensive looking suit.

“You an' me....we're going to have a little chat.”

Crouching down, Moriarty got eye level with her.

“Have a job for you. And you're going to do it.”

Keeping her voice steady, she eyed him furiously.

“Or what?”

Smiling, he pulled a key out and undid her handcuffs.

“I'm not afraid to hurt him. Or you. So unless you want your sweetie to get hurt, you will do as I say.” Moriarty whispered, putting an ear piece in her ear.

“What would that be?”

“You…are going to pretend to be me.”

Mouth opening slightly, Jane looked at him as if he was crazy.

“No. No, this is _insane_. He knows me, and he knows that I would _never_ kill all those people like _you_!!” Jane defended herself, clenching her fists.

“Alright, alright, settle down. Now why don’t we take a breather and just _SHUT UP_!!?” Moriarty suddenly raised his voice, making Jane flinch slightly.

When he saw that she had flinched, he smiled.

“Good, good. You’re learning. From this point on Jane, you are not to say a word, unless I tell you to. Any questions?”

When Jane merely glared at him, he laughed.

“Very good.”

Grabbing her by the lapels of her coat, Moriarty dragged her up.

“Now, why don’t we finish this? It’s Showtime.” He said, his breath ghosting over her lips.

It all made sense to Jane now. She was the fifth pip. She had been the fifth pip all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a foreboding end to a chapter. I won't be to evil, I'll try and finish the next chapter as soon as I can! Until next week!


	9. Performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is given the ultimatum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I said I wouldn't keep you waiting long...sigh.

"Got you a little getting to know you present!" Sherlock called out to the pool.

"That's what it's been all along hasn't it? The bombs, the games...just to get me to come out."

Silence.

"Well, aren't you going to come out and say your' hellos?"

Door squealing open, he heard someone coming. Turning, his confident smirk slowly slipped.

"Quite the turn up, isn't it Sherlock?" Jane coolly stated, her hands in the pockets of her beige winter coat.

"Ja-Jane...I-don't-understand." Sherlock stuttered, his heart seeming to skip beats.

"Then I'll lay it out simply for you. You got duped."

Scowling, Sherlock straightened, adjusting his lapels.

"Of course...it makes sense, doesn't it?" He said slowly.

"Bit slow, you. Taking so long to come to this conclusion." Jane said vacantly.

He had every reason to believe she was Moriarty. She lived with him, she spent time with him, had seen unpleasant sides of his nature. But she was so kind, so against the game, how could _she_ be Moriarty? But Moriarty was clever. He (She?) could create a new life out of thin air. What would stop Moriarty from impersonating a humble Army doctor in order to get close to Sherlock? It would be easy to kill the real Jane Watson, a poor veteran with no connection, and then play the part. After all they went through though. After all the pain, the joy, the laughter, the personal sides. How could she be Moriarty?

She used to be a game to him. A puzzle. He wanted to find her secrets, to find out what made Jane Watson, Jane Watson. Now though, he wasn't so sure Jane was a puzzle, or a mystery. She was a companion, the person he looked forward to seeing. So no, this could not be Moriarty. The way she smiled right now was nothing like a mastermind. It was a frightened woman, who was on the brink of destruction.

"Enough games. Where are you really?"

Pausing, Jane stopped.

"What...would you like me to make her say next?" Jane flatly asked, unzipping the thick coat to reveal a bomb strapped to her chest.

"Hello, I am Jane Watson, the massive, boring idiot. How do you do?" She dryly said, her eyes dead.

"Stop." Sherlock said, his throat going dry.

"Gottle-O-Geer. Gottle-O-Geer."

"Stop it."

"I can make Jane Watson do anything and everything I want now. I can do anything. I can even stop her heart." Jane’s voice quaked at the end, but she sharply blinked, as if trying to control herself again.

"Stop it, _now_!" Sherlock's voice rose.

Doors clanging open, Sherlock watched a man emerge.

“I gave you my nu-mber. Thought you might call.”

In walked Jim, as casual as if going to a grocery store.

“Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket? Or are you just glad to see me?” Moriarty taunted.

“Both.” Sherlock said, pulling the gun out and aiming it at Moriarty.

“Jim Moriarty…hi!” Impersonating Sherlock, Moriarty put his hand to his chin. “Jim? Jim from the hospital? Did I really make that fleeting of an impression? But that was the point, wasn’t it?” Smiling, Jim casually looked over at the red laser light pointed at Jane’s chest.

“Don’t bother shooting me Sherlock. I don’t enjoy getting my own two hands dirty. I’m not the one with the rifle in my hand.”

When Sherlock lowered his gun, Moriarty continued.

“I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy _glimpse_ of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world. I’m a specialist, like you.”

“Dear Jim, Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister?” Sherlock recited, still pointing the gun. “Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America? A consultant criminal. Brilliant.”

“Isn’t it really? No one seems to ever get to me. And no-one ever will.”

“I did.” Sherlock remarked.

“True, but now you’re in my way.” Moriarty sneered.

“Thank you.”

“Didn’t mean it as a compliment.” Moriarty stated.

“Yes, you did.”

“Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting’s over. Da-ddy’s had enough n-ow!” Moriarty said in a high sing-song.

Going closer to Sherlock, Moriarty smiled.

“I’ve shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play.”

Glancing over at Jane, Sherlock’s jaw tensed. Still, pale, staring at the floor, as if she were no more than a puppet on strings. He had to get Jane out as soon as he could.

“So this…this is a friendly warning, Dear. Back off. Though, I’ve really loved this. This game of ours.”

“People have died.” Sherlock said coldly.

“That’s what people _DO_!!” Moriarty shrieked the end out, making Jane flinch.

“I will…stop you.” Sherlock calmly stated.

“No you won’t.” Looking over at Jane, Moriarty smiled. “Oh, I get it. You can’t concentrate, until you hear the pet talk.”

Silent, Jane kept her eyes on the ground.

“It’s alright Janey dear, you can talk now.” Moriarty’s taunting voice rang out.

When Moriarty reached out to caress a strand of her hair, she recoiled, and stepped subtly away.

“Jane,” Sherlock asked lowly.

“Are you alright?”

Nodding slightly, Jane focused on the ground, rather than Sherlock. She just knew that if she met his eyes, her composure would break.

“Spending at least 30 million quid to get me to come out, kidnapping my colleague…why?” Handing Moriarty the missile plans, Moriarty laughed.

“Oh these?? Boring! I could’ve gotten these anywhere!” When Moriarty threw it into the pool, Jane saw her chance.

With great difficulty, she, and the twenty pounds of bomb was launched at Moriarty. Wrapping her arms tightly against his neck, she tightened her arm on his wind pipe.

“If you set that bomb off, then you’ll go down to.” She hissed into his ear before looking Sherlock sternly in the eye.

“Sherlock,” She said hoarsely. “Run. I mean it. I do not want to lose another friend. Run.”

“Aww. Isn’t she really sweet? I do know why you keep her around. But, people get overly sentimental about their pets.”

A laser aimed at Sherlock’s head, Jane’s eyes widened.

“But, you’ve showed your hand to much, haven’t you Doctor Watson?”

Backing up, Jane kept her hands well above her head, where the snipers could see them.

“She’s been trained quite well.” Moriarty chuckled.

“Sherlock, you know what happens, if you don’t leave me alone?”

“Let me guess, I get killed.” Sherlock said dully, his gun still aimed at Moriarty.

“Kill you? No…don’t be obvious, I mean, I will kill you anyway. What I’m saying is, if you don’t stop prying Sherlock. I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you. And all there will be left for you is nothing.”

“I have been well informed that I do not have one.”

Eyes drifting to Jane, Moriarty knowingly looked back at him.

“Although…we both know that’s not quite true.”

A chill went down Sherlock’s spine as Moriarty smiled. That look. That single at glance at Jane told Sherlock, that Moriarty knew. He knew exactly how Sherlock felt about her. Mouth in a straight line, Sherlock looked straight at Moriarty.

“Well, I’d better be off. Nice to have a good chat every now and again.”

“What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?” Sherlock asked, loading the gun.

“I’d be surprised. Really I would. A bit disappointed to. Of course, you wouldn’t be able to celebrate your loss for long.” Walking away, Moriarty opened the door.

“Catch…you…later.”

“No you won’t!!” Came the sing-song voice.

Waiting a second before he was sure Moriarty was gone, Sherlock turned to Jane and got to his knees in front of her.

“Are you alright?!?” He asked, hurriedly unzipping her coat.

“Sherlock, I-” Stammering, Jane felt herself pale.

“Are you alright?!” He asked again, ripping the coat off of her.

“Ye-yes-no…”

Stripping the coat off, he kicked it as far away from them as he possibly could. Sitting against the wall, Jane clenched her fists, trying to get her tremor to leave.

“Are you alright?” Jane asked him.

“Hm? Yes, yes, I am quite fine.” He said, scratching his head with the gun.

“Look-that thing you did-or offered to do with the bomb-was-er-good.” Sherlock stammered, pacing around.

“Well…thank you.”

Pulling the ear piece from her ear, Jane closed her eyes.

“People will talk, you know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-you tearing my coat off in a darkened swimming pool…” Laughing weakly, Jane tried to make their current situation lighter than it truly was.

“We should go, in case-” Trailing off, Sherlock looked at Jane. “Jane...”

Looking down, she saw a glowing red bullet, aimed over her heart, and a bullet over Sherlock’s skull.

“Oh-no-it can’t be-” Jane whispered in horror.

“Sorry lovebirds! I’m so-o changeable. It is a weakness, but my only one.”

Looking around, Sherlock noticed multiple lasers on him and Jane now.

“You can’t be allowed to continue. You just can’t. I would try to convince you but…”

Meeting Jane’s gaze, Sherlock formed a silent conversation. _Shoot the bomb?_ He asked silently. Slightly nodding, Jane's eyes said it all. _Do it_.

“…Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!”

“Then probably our answer, has crossed yours.” Sherlock said, aiming the gun at the bomb.

Looking at the bomb, and then Sherlock, Moriarty raised an eyebrow. A tense silence filled the air.

_“Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive! Ah, ah, ah…”_ The strains of Stayin’ Alive filled the air.

Eyebrows arched, Jane looked confusedly at Sherlock.

“…Mind if I get that?” Moriarty asked, pulling his phone out gingerly.

“Oh it’s fine. You’ve got the rest of your life.”

“Hello? Yes, of course it’s me, what do you want?” Moriarty asked impatiently.

Looking at Jane, Sherlock returned his gaze to Moriarty.

“SAY THAT AGAIN!” He suddenly shouted.

“And know, that if you are lying to me, I will ski-n you.” Walking away, Moriarty turned to look at Sherlock.

“Someone offer you something better?” Sherlock questioned.

“You’ll be hearing from me Sherlock.” Moriarty said, before returning to the phone.

“If you’re telling the truth, I will make you rich. Lying, and I’ll make you into shoes…”

Right before he left, Moriarty snapped his fingers, making all the snipers disappear.

“What-what was that all about?” Jane asked, standing up shakily.

“Someone gave him a better deal. Who, I wonder though…” Sherlock pondered.

“Sherlock. We have to go, now.”

“Of course.” Finding the exit, Sherlock and Jane looked around.

The confrontation had only been ten minutes, but it felt like hours to both of them. Still shaking, Jane wiped some sweat from her brow. She didn't feel well at all.

“Will we be able to find a cab?” Jane asked him.

“Most likely.”

After going onto a main street, they at last found a cab. Once they were in it, and on their way home, the two were silent. Unsure of how to break the silence, Sherlock chose to address the elephant in the room.

“Jane, are you really alright?”

“Yes.” She answered, staring out the window.

“He didn’t hurt you?”

Silence.

“Jane, he didn’t try and-”

“-I’m _fine_ ,” Jane snapped. “Just-just leave me alone, okay?!”

Confused at the sudden mood swing, Sherlock looked out his side of the window.

***

_Chains. Her wrists felt so sore, her body pummelled with bruises. There was nothing she could get them to do to stop it. She wondered if Sherlock would ever even notice that she’d been gone for hours now. Suddenly, they were in the pool._

_“Sherlock! Where are you??” Jane yelled, looking around._

_“Jane! Jane!” Turning around, she saw Sherlock._

_“Sherlock, you’ve got to help me, I-Sherlock?!” He was opening his mouth, but instead of words, blood. He was drowning._

_“Daddy’s had enough no-w!” Falling to his knees, Sherlock clutched his throat as more blood fell._

_“Somebody, help!! HELP ME!!!”_

“Jane!!” She woke with a start to someone shaking her.

“No! No!!!” Slamming her fist down, she wildly fought.

“No, no stop! STOP! Let go! Let go of me!!” She screamed, writhing.

“Jane, it’s _me_!”

Recognising his voice, Jane looked up.

“Sherlock?” Shaking, she looked around, as Sherlock awkwardly rubbed her back.

“I-I-I don’t u-understand, where am I??”

“Home. You’re in your room, you just had a nightmare.” Sherlock explained, turning on the lamp.

Letting her eyes adjust to the light, Jane looked around, her eyes still containing that feral look. Never had Sherlock seen someone so lost in their own home before.

“I…I hurt you.” Jane whispered, looking up at him.

“No, you didn’t.”

Instead of answering, she touched the long scratch on his arm.

“This, no. I accidentally got scratched as I took down the boards on the windows.” Sherlock responded, drawing his arm carefully behind his back.

“Oh.” Relaxing slightly, Jane sat there numbly.

“Try and sleep.” Sherlock said, helping her get back into the covers.

“I can’t sleep…” Feeling tears burn at her eyes, she roughly looked away. “Not on these nights.” She whispered, a tear slipping.

“Then I will stay here until you do.” Sherlock promised, pulling up a chair.

“I could be awake for hours though.” Jane murmured, pulling her quilt up to her chin.

Holding her hand, Sherlock looked out the window, waiting for her tremor to stop, and for her to drift to a peaceful sleep. After what truly seemed like hours, Jane finally fell asleep. When he was sure she was, he carefully stood up and left, leaving the lamp on.

He was so stupid to have let her go off like that alone. It only made sense that she was the fifth pip. If he had just walked her to Sanford’s, then it never would have happened. Feeling at the scratch, Sherlock winced. He didn’t want to think of how Jane would feel if she knew she truly did hurt him. Sherlock knew something had happened to her. Something more than the five (ten?) minutes at that pool. He needed to find out the truth.

***

Waking up slowly the next morning, Jane looked at the morning light outside her window. Wincing at the pain, Jane forced herself to sit up. Nightmares. Nothing but horrible, horrible nightmares.

“Alright, one, two, and three…” Pushing herself up painfully, her bare feet landed on the cold floor.

She felt as if she had forgotten something important that had happened. Something had happened the previous night, but she just…couldn’t remember. Everything that had happened the previous day was a confusing whirl of muddled scenes, conversations, and people. She remembered water, echoes, and a heavy weight on her, shouting, a cold pipe, and Sherlock, with her gun. Staring at herself in the mirror, she silently combed her hair into a French braid. An awful effect of PTSD she sometimes had. Every now and again, her mind would relapse, and she wouldn’t remember an important event.

She remembered when she was in the hospital, she couldn’t remember her captivity until two days after. Pulling her favourite crème jumper over her jeans, she reluctantly went down the stairs. It was entirely to humiliating to ask Sherlock what had happened. He wouldn’t understand that she truly didn’t remember much. Perhaps though, it was for the best that she didn’t remember whatever had happened.

“Morning Sherlock.” She greeted him, turning on the kettle.

“Good morning. Are you feeling better?”

“…Ah, yes. You?”

“Mm.”

Pouring them tea, Jane sat across from him.

“A better deal…a better offer…” Sherlock muttered.

“What?”

“That phone call. Who was the one, who had a better offer?”

_“SAY THAT AGAIN!” He suddenly shouted. Walking away, Moriarty turned to look at Sherlock._

_“You’ll be hearing from me Sherlock.” Moriarty said, before returning to the phone._

Dropping her tea cup heavily, Jane rubbed her temple.

“Jane?”

“I’m fine. Sorry.” She apologised, staring into her tea.

“I don’t know who he could possibly have been calling.” She stated feebly.

***

Getting a phone call, Jane answered.

“Hello?”

“Jane!! Oh thank God, are you alright??” Jane heard Sanford worriedly cry.

“Yeah…I’m great. I…”

“You didn’t ever come to see me, and I thought the worst had happened! Sherlock called last night and sort of told me what happened. I’m coming over though, and you’re telling me everything that happened from start to finish.”

Swallowing against the grit in her throat, Jane nodded slightly.

“Of-of course.” She whispered.

“See you in a few minutes.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane recovers from the ordeal, physically and mentally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?? I have never whipped out a chapter in two days! I really couldn't wait to post this chapter. I hope you all enjoy the feels :)

They might send her to a hospital. They would keep her under observation for weeks, just like last time. How could she explain? How could she just say that she didn’t _know_ what had happened to her? Bits and pieces would float, and then come and go. 

_"They said you were smart. I think you are too smart for your own good. Now come with me, we don't want anything to happen to Sherlock's pet, do we?"_

“That…that’s right. I was…kidnapped by the real Moriarty…I was trying to visit Sanford…after that…” 

Something to do with pipes and chains. Hearing a knock at the door, she jumped slightly and went downstairs to answer it. 

“Jane!” 

Throwing his arms around her, Sanford pulled her into an overwhelming hug. 

“Jane, I thought I would-I thought you-” 

Tensing, Jane shrugged away a little. 

“Jane?”

“Just-please-don’t…” 

Not able to find the words, Jane pushed out of the embrace and went up the stairs. 

“I’ll make us some tea…or something.”

Frowning slightly, Sanford went up behind her. 

“Jane? Is something going on?” 

“No-yes…I…Sanford, I just got kidnapped. I don’t…I just don’t know how to talk about it.” 

“But it happened to both of us before! You were fine then!” Sanford argued, confused at her violent change.

“Yes, well at least I remembered what happened that time!!” Jane snapped. 

“Do you not…recall it? Jane, if you don’t, then you should try and talk about what happened.” 

“What-what am I saying? I-yes I remember it, I just don’t really want to discuss this. Can’t you understand??” 

Hurt, Sanford nodded.

“I was rude to just, barge in here. I’m sorry Jane. If you need distance, and solitude right now, then that’s what I’ll give you.” 

Nodding at her, Sanford walked back down the stairs. 

“Sanford, I-” Hearing the door bang shut, Jane turned her back and walked into the living room. 

She was so frustrated, angry, and confused that she didn’t know what to do with herself. Angrily, she brushed hair out of her eyes. 

“He wasn’t here long.” Sherlock noted, watching Sanford’s retreating figure. 

“Leave me alone.” 

“Have a row?” 

“Stop it!! Leave me be!!” Jane yelled at him, before turning on her heel and going down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” 

“Out. I need to think.” 

Walking into a random diner, she ordered a coffee and sat in a corner booth. Sinking her head on the wood, she closed her eyes. Random scenes would come in flashbacks and scenes, and then they were gone. She wanted to remember, but she was scared to. What would the truth reveal? Had something just absolutely unthinkable happen, that Sherlock didn’t know of? Shuddering, she shakily sipped her coffee. After sitting there until a clock rang, Jane realised she must have been there for over an hour. Pulling on her jacket, she walked mutely outside.

She hated her PTSD. Because of it, it scared her to come near to people. If anyone saw her go off the edge, they’d leave. She knew they would. What would Sherlock think of her? Entering the flat quietly, she hoped Sherlock would be gone. Of course, he wasn’t. 

“Where were you?” He demanded.

“I already told you, out.”

“You were gone for nearly seven hours Jane.” 

Frowning, she shook her head. 

“It was only two hours…I swear it.” 

Had she seriously skulked in that café for that long? She was losing track of time. Just like the last time. Feeling the colour drain from her cheeks, she let herself slowly breathe. 

“I’m sorry to worry you. Goodnight.” 

Sitting on her bed, Jane silently stared at the wall. She was afraid, afraid to sleep, afraid to let herself relax. Jane would sleep, and with the sleep, the nightmares. Getting up, Jane opened her top drawer. She almost never opened this drawer, but just for tonight. Pulling out her dog tags, and a few photos, Jane sunk onto her bed. 

Her profile photo when she first entered the military. No premature lines of worry, no dark circles. Just a young woman, who was filled with the bright hope for the future. She had seen no death, never had the guilt and burdens she’d now forever carry. Looking through some of her other photos, Jane put her head down on the pillows.

_Wrapping her arms tightly against his neck, she tightened her arm on his wind pipe._

_“Aww. Isn’t she really sweet? I do know why you keep her around. But, people get overly sentimental about their pets.”_

_A laser aimed at Sherlock’s head, Jane’s eyes widened._

_“But, you’ve showed your hand to much, haven’t you Doctor Watson?”_

_Hearing a bullet crack, she watched in horror as it penetrated Sherlock’s skull. Eyes lulling back, Sherlock sank into the water._

_“Sherlock!!” Jane shrieked, trying to pull him out of the water._

_“It’s no good, Jane. He’s dead. He’s dead.”_

_“No! No, I can still save him. Please!” Jane cried, trying to drag him out of the water._

_“Jane! Hang on!” Hearing a familiar voice, she looked up._

_“JO! Help!”_

_“On the count to three, Captain. One, two, three!”_

_Lifting Sherlock out of the water, Jo put her head to his chest._

_“Captain…I’m sorry.”_

_“No…no, not him too!”_

_Smiling sadly at Jane, Jo stood up, dusting off her army green pants._

_“Tell my family I’m sorry.”_

Waking up with a shuddering gasp, Jane looked around at her dark, empty bedroom. It had felt so real. Turning her head into her pillow, Jane fitfully sobbed. What was real, and what wasn’t? Hyperventilating, Jane tried hopelessly to stop crying, only making it worse. 

*** 

The next morning, Jane gloomily descended the stairs. It had taken her two hours to calm down, and her eyes still ached from the crying. She stayed up the rest of the night, just pacing. Pacing the floors, staring into the shadows. She felt as if she were losing her mind. Pouring herself coffee, she cursed when her tremor made it spill all over the floor and burning her hand. Putting her hand under cold water, Jane tiredly lowered her head. At least she had all of her memories back. Staying up all night would help with that. 

“How unlike you, there’s no tea.” Sherlock remarked, coming out of his room. 

“I’m not a maid _Sherlock Holmes_!! Can’t you just make yourself tea for once?!” Jane yelled, angrily slamming the tap off.

Blinking rapidly, Sherlock looked at her, stunned. 

“No…no. Sorry…I…sorry.” Jane apologised, turning the kettle on. 

Frowning at her, Sherlock said nothing, but picked up the laptop. 

*** 

The day passed in uneventful civility. For the majority of the conversations, they kept to the weather, jokes about Mycroft, and the bills. That night, Jane nearly felt herself. They sat at the kitchen table, her tapping out her blog, and Sherlock working on his microscope. The rain drumming heavily outside, made Jane feel at peace. Hearing thunder, Jane tensed slightly. She still was too sensitive of loud noises to enjoy thunder. Hearing a loud clap of thunder, Jane jumped slightly as the lights all flickered. Finally, the power went out altogether, leaving the flat in darkness. 

“Power-it’s out.” She managed, sitting up. 

“Start the fire, I’ll get a torch.” Sherlock said, rising. 

“Right.” 

Pulling a chair up to the mantle, Jane stood up to search for matches. As Sherlock clicked on the torch, he noticed Jane’s foot was dangerously close to the edge of the chair. 

“Jane, watch out you’re about to-” When the chair swerved over, he ran over, grabbing Jane. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Put me down!!” Jane frantically yelled, shoving him. 

Shocked at her outburst, Sherlock blinked at her. Looking at her arms, he noticed that a distinct red purple mark on her right wrist. Noticing where he was looking, Jane pulled her sweater tightly over her wrist. Taking her wrist, Sherlock pulled the sleeve up so he could see the bruises.

“…Where did you get those marks?”

“…From Golem.” Jane asked, trying to pull away. 

“He didn’t handcuff you. Moriarty did though, didn’t he?” Sherlock questioned, not relinquishing his grip.

Angrily, Jane looked away. 

“Then why did you even ask in the first place, if you already knew??” 

“I need to know what happened.”

“So, you just tried to-manipulate me??” She spat out. 

An uneasy silence filled the air. Tugging against Sherlock’s grasp, he finally released her. 

“I don’t want to talk about what happened.” 

“What happened to you, when you were abducted?” Sherlock asked seriously. 

“I don’t….want….to talk about what happened Sherlock.” 

“Did they do anything? _Anything_ at all to you??” 

“…No. Nothing. I swear.”

When he looked disbelievingly at her, she clenched her fist. 

“ _Nothing_. They only brought up memories…horrible, horrible memories.” She whispered, her eyes worlds away.

“I see.”

Feeling a sudden, drowning feeling of helplessness, she lashed out.

“NO! No, you don’t know! You don’t see! You don’t see what it’s like, to be chained against a pipe, thinking your life is about to _end_ , too-to sit day in and day out in a terrorist cell, wondering when they’re going to come down and just-”  Feeling as if her diaphragm could barely work, began violently shaking.

“You-don’t-understand.”

Extending his hands to her slowly, Sherlock carefully chose his words.

“You’re right. I don’t know. I need you to help me to.”

“I was doing so well-I was doing okay-and now-having an attack-I don’t know what to do-I don’t.” Jane stammered painfully. 

“First off, calm down. Just breathe.”

“I can’t-I can’t.”

“Yes, yes you can. I know you can. Just…stay calm. Remember where you are.” 

“I’m not…better.” 

“Jane…” Putting both hands on her shoulders, Sherlock gazed steadily at her.

“You can, and _will_ get better. You aren’t getting worse.” 

Looking nauseous, Jane tried her best to regain her breath. 

“Yoo-hoo! I heard some shoutin’, everything all right?” Mrs. Hudson asked. 

“Mrs. Hudson, everything’s fine, please return downstairs.” Sherlock replied, his eyes not once leaving Jane’s. 

“ You sure? The power went out and-”

“PLEASE LEAVE.” Jane raised her voice, burying her face in her hands.

Jumping a bit, Mrs. Hudson went downstairs. When Jane realised that she had shouted, she weakly sat on her armchair. Saying nothing, Sherlock started a fire. 

“I’m sorry Sherlock.” Still silent, Sherlock stared into the fire.

“Jane..?”

“Yes?”

“What happened to you?”

He wasn't asking about Moriarty this time. 

“It only happened around seven months ago.” 

With a heavy sigh, Jane began her tragic tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I leave you on another cliff hanger. I'm trying to have Jane act as anyone really would if they got kidnapped. I notice sometimes when I read stories that people have character's come back A-okay after a traumatizing experience. I understand that there are more important aspects to the plot at times, but I feel that making characters that people can relate to is important. See you next week!


	11. Of the Dim Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadows are found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not in the military, and I am not completely certain how accurate this actually is. If it is inaccurate, I am sorry!

_"So, how many men are in the unit?" Jane asked, jotting notes in her notebook._

_"Around fifteen. We heard they were trapped, we're just bringing you in case we need a medic." Johanna answered, checking her gun._

_"You boys okay?" Jane shouted over the engine of the car._

_One of the boys who didn't look a day over his twenties, nodded nervously._

_"Your first time on a rescue mission mate?" Jane asked sympathetically._

_When the boy gave an uneasy nod, she smiled. "Just stay on your toes private, you'll do fine."_

_"Tha-thanks Captain Watson."_

_When Jane smiled at him again before looking at the dusty road behind them again, he felt the tension loosen somewhat._

_"Ready men? Let's go!" Johanna shouted, hopping off the van._

_"Remember, make sure you cover Watson's blind side, if she's incapacitated or dead, we don't have a doctor or a friend!" Johanna ordered, keeping Jane in the centre._

_"Yes ma'am..." They all nodded, looking around edgily._

_After walking for twenty minutes, Jane sensed something was not right._

_"Jane, what's wrong?" Johanna asked, sensing her friend's perturbation._

_"I don't know...something's wrong. Terribly wrong." Jane uttered in a low voice, before she heard a groan from somewhere._

_She recognized the sound as she heard it on a daily basis. The groan of a dying man._

_"East!" She barked, hurrying away._

_After running a ways, she stopped, horror flooding her eyes. All fifteen men, on the ground, guts and blood spattered over the cracked, dry ground._

_"No!" One of the men cried._

_Running over to a man who was still breathing, Jane pulled him onto her lap._

_"Soldier, you're gonna be okay, hang in there! Don't die!"_

_"Sorry Doc, but I...can't....I was..." His eyes rolled back into his head, giving his last breath._

_Jane had no time for grief however, when cries came from all around. Battle cries. The rest was a blur. Men shouting in foreign languages, guns blaring. Jane had just enough time to lift a body as her shield as the bullets came like hornets. She felt terrible for using a corpse, but she did not want to become one. When she looked up again, the smell of fresh blood wafted through the air. All the men they came to rescue, all the men that came to rescue them, dead._

_A man yelled, and Jane had no idea what he said. When she frowned in confusion, he raised his gun higher._

_"Jane, on your knees!" She heard Johanna hiss._

_So Jo was alive? Getting on her knees, Jane put her hands behind her head. A man growled and the men loaded their guns. Jane then realised that he probably said something on the lines of killing them. Suddenly Johanna looked up and began rapidly speaking in their language, making the men yell back. After a few minutes, Jane was back on her feet, with a sack over her head as she was forced into a vehicle. Listening to the sounds, after twenty minutes, the car stopped and she was dragged out, and she heard sounds._

_Men talking, no women, heat, smells. Then the air cooled a fraction of a degree and she realised she was inside. Getting thrown into the ground, she felt herself land into some sort of slush. Pulling off the sack, Jane fought the urge to throw up. She had been thrown into a pulp of human flesh and blood. Jane felt the room spin. Feeling sick from the heat and the morbid scenario, she felt herself blanch and she ran to a corner and retched, as the door opened and Johanna was tossed in. Helping her out of the sack, Johanna looked at Jane's condition._

_"You okay?" She whispered, when they heard banging on their door and a man shouted something._

_Putting a finger to her lips, Johanna pointed at Jane's pocket where her notebook was. After pulling it out with an ink pen, they began passing rapid notes. Johanna explained that she had told the men that herself was a high ranked officer and could be used as ransom or hostage, and Jane was a doctor and how they needed more medics._

_They began a system. Over the next three weeks, Jane would be dragged up to take care of the men who would spit at her, harass her, and yell vulgar slang, Johanna would stay in the cell all day. Jane would come down exhausted mentally and physically, but with more information. They would map out their surroundings, and make plans of escape. Their stay in the prison was hell. Jane couldn't remember when she had a shower or non-discoloured water, or the bland, tasteless mush she received._

_Some days, the obvious doubt of escape hung heavily in the tense air and Johanna and Jane would try to pass the time by telling stories and hopes they had when they escaped. Sometimes the stale air was too much and one of them would throw up, or lie down all night, fever burning, shivering from the illness and chilled air. But at long last, Jane found a way out. She had caught a guard stealing supplies._

_"If you want me to stay quiet about this, then you're going to help me."_

_"Why don't I just kill you instead?" The guard whispered, a cold steel knife to her throat._

_"Because you need a doctor. Now, listen to me. Find a way for my comrade and I to escape, and I will continue letting you steal. I'll even help."_

_Nodding, he put his dagger away. At last, the guard came up with a plan. Opening their cell door in the middle of the night, he motioned for them to follow._

_"In these boxes. In the morning when the truck starts, you'll be carried away with the supplies. I will arrange for the car to stop five miles from your base, you will be released, and free."_

_"How can we trust you?" Johanna whispered._

_"You can't. But you will die for certain should you stay here. Now go."_

_"Jane, I don't trust him, don't do this." Johanna hissed._

_"Jo, we don't have another option. This will work, you have to trust me."_

_Sliding into the box, Jane watched the cover slide over. The box was cramped and small. Her only option was to cross her arms over her chest so she could fit. Daytime came, and the car was not moving. Panic struck her when the heat came. Why weren't they moving? If she got out now, she'd be shot. They would die. For hours she lay there, throat dry, the box hot, small, and uncomfortable. She felt as if weights were on her chest, it was so hard to breathe. Something was wrong. The truck hadn't moved, and the light from the small cracks in the wood, looked as if it was late afternoon._

_"Should we open them now? Think they've learned their lesson now?" A man yelled in English, and cheers following that._

_Feeling her heart skip a beat, Jane's box was thrown to the ground, herself tumbling out of it, Jo next. Grabbing a gun from a man, she shot the nearest one in the chest and made a break for it, Johanna behind her. Jane looked around desperately, her eyes filled with the fear and desperation of a hunted animal. Behind her and Johanna were the armed guards, running toward them, and in front of her, that cursed barbed wire. They were trapped._

_"No!! We can escape still, I know we can!" Jane let out a yell of frustration, taking some of the wire in her hand and trying to tear it apart, only resulting in the ripping of skin and flesh in her hand._

_"Jane! We've lost! It's over!" Johanna stopped her, her voice spoke in a tone of complete defeat._

_Looking around quickly, Jo lifted up the barbed wire._

_"Jane! Go!" Shaking her head, Jane scowled._

_“What about you?!”_

_"Jane! I know, you're scared! But I promise, I'm going to die, you won't be leaving me here alive! It's okay Jane! I want you to live!" Eyes burning, Jane backed up._

_"You have a fiancé! You have a life! I have nothing! Nothing is waiting for me at home, but you do!"_

_"You have your brother. And you will Jane, you will find someone." Backing to the barbed wire, Jane let out an unwilling sob._

_“No…no I won’t.”_

_“Please. Go.”_

_"I'm sorry Jo...I'm sorry...." She whispered, and army crawled under._

_“Jane. One more thing. Tell...tell my family I'm sorry. Please...tell them that..." Jo asked, tears in her eyes._

_“I will.” Jane whispered, before turning and fleeing._

_Swiping away her tears, Jane ran. She heard shouting, the wind in her ears, her heart pounding against her rib cage. ‘Once I get past that border, I'm free, once I cross the border, they can't touch me. I have to get to the neutral territory’ was all that echoed in her ears. Just as she crossed, she heard a booming sound, and felt a searing pain in her shoulder. Whirling around, she saw one of the men standing several yards away from her, gun still smoking. She looked into his dark eyes before one last time, before turning in disgust and fleeing._

_Her entire arm felt as if it were on fire. The hot metal in her shoulder burned into her skin. She remembered when she was little, she had walked into a pile of red ants. This, felt ten times worse. As she walked, she noticed the blistering sun, the desert seeming to smoke. She needed water, she was dying. Feeling a scorching burn, she realized the bullet shrapnel was still in her shoulder. Hands clambering, she dug into her skin, trying to dig out the shrapnel in bedded in her shoulder. Finally making contact, she dug into her own skin, watching her own fat sizzle from the burning shrapnel. Shaking from the pain, she tried to suppress her pain filled shrieks and failed, her agonised sobs filling the empty desert, before she was able to fling it out onto the sand._

_After she walked a little ways more before collapsing, her shoulder sticky in dirt and blood, her face slick with sweat, and her hand aching with fresh and new coats of blood. Sporadic pain and tears filled her. Shoulders trembling, she lay down, defeated. As she watched her blood seep into the fiery sand beneath her, she knew there was one more thing that she had to do. Pulling out her notebook she wrote, her words shaky "Johanna is dead. Her last words were to tell her parents she was sorry..."_

_As she finally faded away under the cloudless blue sky, her last words that passed her bleeding dry lips were: "Please God, let me live..." Before she lost consciousness._

_She woke again, in a hospital tent, shaking and sweating, her fever raging through her._

_"Hang on, you're going to be alright...."_

_"Every-everything's going to be alright....." She rasped, and gave a low chuckle at the irony._

_Whenever she said that, nothing ever turned that way. Off and on the next several days, Jane continually lost and regained consciousness. When she woke again, she heard low voices._

_"Poor girl. She lost her wing man."_

_"And we lost one of our best officers."_

_"How did you find her?"_

_"She was collapsed on the side of some road and some U.S. soldiers picked her up and brought the poor woman over."_

_"It's a miracle that she's not dead, all the blood she lost." a man clucked sympathetically._

_Jane had hoped it was just a nightmare. Just a bad nightmare that everyone on the squad had been killed, she and Johanna captured for weeks, and Johanna being horrifically murdered. But no, it all really happened._

_***_

_“I’m just…warning you, it may be hard for you.”_

_“It’s fine.” Jane said hoarsely._

_Looking at her, as if he did not know what to say, the doctor slowly breathed out before removing the sheet. Staring at Jo’s body, Jane felt something akin to revulsion towards herself. This rotting, corpse. She did this. If she had just…just let Jo crawl over the wire, it would be okay. No one was waiting back home for her anyway. No one._

_***_

_The next couple weeks, Jane practiced moving around, using her shoulder again. But her limp would not leave, no matter what they did. Her hands could not work the way they used to, a tremor constantly making them shake, even when she slept. With a bad limp, tremors in her hands, Jane then knew. She was not fit for military service._

_After a thirty hour layover, Jane finally flew to England, she found John waiting for her._

_“JANE!” He shouted, racing over._

_“John…” Smiling weakly, she let herself be enfolded into an embrace._

_All though she smiled and laughed, she felt empty inside. Johanna was gone, her entire career, the thing she aspired to be since youth, gone. Her life was now nothing, without the military._

***

Staring into the fire, Jane’s eyes were a dark blue-green, her eyes filled with ghosts.

“…I could have just done deskwork. But I just couldn’t stand the thought of just sitting there, idle. So, I just decided to leave the military altogether.”

Silent, Sherlock watched her. He had his suspicions of her imprisonment, but when she spoke about it, it made his blood boil. He wanted to personally go to where she'd been held and kill every last man there. 

“Sherlock…”

“Yes?”

“I think…I think I am going to leave.” Her words felt like she had just stabbed him in the gut.

Leave? She couldn’t! They were just like clockwork. They had a way of making things work the way they needed it. She couldn’t just decide to leave on the spur of a moment. In the candid truth though, she could. Jane had left the military, her family. She could easily leave him alone as well.

“Ah.”

“Yeah…go back to Truro, see my Mum. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“Why would I mind?” Sherlock said coldly, staring at the hearth.

“Good then. I leave tomorrow. Thanks for understanding.”

With those last words, she was gone. Biting down the smothering regret, he clenched his hands together. Why would Jane be any different? Of course she would want to leave. And he could do nothing to stop her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was most likely one of the hardest ones I've had to write for this so far. It's hard to know what goes through people's minds when they're placed in similar situations. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed it! I think the next chapter is going to be the last, and then we move on to the next story!


	12. Amend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane goes to Truro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is the last chapter of this story!! Thanks you guys for being so incredible! I want to write some shorts in before I start on the next story, so it might be a little while before I get that one going.

The next morning, Jane was dressed, and ready to go. Lugging her army duffel down the stairs, she set it on her armchair and made them some tea.  
“My cab is coming to pick me up in about five minutes.”  
Silent, Sherlock pretended to write his blog on his laptop.  
“We still have some leftovers in the fridge that needs to get eaten.”  
Transfixed on the screen, Sherlock remained reticent.  
As the cab pulled up, Jane set down the mug of tea next to him.  
“Just…remember to eat, alright?”  
When he didn’t even look up, Jane sighed and picked up her bag. Sometimes she felt like talking to him, was the equivalent of prying open an oyster. Once she was sure he wasn’t going to speak, she hitched the army duffel on her shoulder and made a silent descent of the stairs.  
When he knew she was gone, Sherlock pushed away the laptop and sighed. Perhaps he should have at least told her goodbye. But…he just did not know what to say. She had survivor’s guilt, she was shaken by the Moriarty ordeal. Any sane person would have packed up and left at this point. And he didn’t blame her for leaving.  
***  
When she got on the train, Jane lay her head back and sighed. Maybe this would get her mother to leave her be, if she visited. Besides, she really did want to see her niece.  
When she got there, she looked up the friendly looking white cottage. On the outside, it looked like a place a cheerful grandmother would live. But inside…sighing, she ascended the creaky porch stairs. Inside, you would never even imagine the pain and strife.  
Ringing the doorbell, Jane waited patiently. Hearing tiny feet pad down the wood, her nine year old niece flung the door open.  
“AUNT JANE!!” She shrieked, launching herself at Jane.  
“Hi Rose!” Jane greeted her, laughing and returning the hug.  
“I thought you wouldn’t ever come back!!” Rose cheered, her brown hair bobbing.  
“Neither did I, darling.”  
Hearing the familiar voice, Jane inhaled and looked up.  
“Hi Mum.”  
Giving her a hug, Jane stepped back.  
“Well go on upstairs, you know where your room is.” Her Mother beckoned.  
Going up the wooden stairs, Jane opened her door. It was just as she left it. The cheerful, soft colours, the creaky bed that was never repaired. Her bookshelf, brimming with all of her University and personal books.  
Going to her ash wood desk, she set down her laptop. Descending the stairs, Jane was then led into the kitchen for a steaming mug of tea. Despite her and her Mother’s differences, her Mum was the only person who knew how to make her tea properly.  
“Thanks.” She said gratefully, sipping it.  
“So, what made you come and visit??”  
“Well…I just missed home, I suppose. Even I need to return sometimes.”  
Arching an eyebrow, her Mother stared at her.  
“Why did you really come back? Just a week ago, you were telling me you wouldn’t be visiting anytime soon.”  
“Things just changed.” Jane shortly answered.  
“How? What changed?”  
“I don’t know, I just-”  
Hearing the screen door open, Jane looked up to see Clara and Harry come in.  
“I didn’t know you were coming Jane!!” Clara cried, throwing her arms around Jane.  
“Oh, hello Clara.”  
“Jane!!” Came her brother’s booming voice.  
Enfolding her in a crushing hug, Harry laughed.  
“Harry, what’re you doing here?”  
“I had to finalise some stuff with Clara.”  
Smiling uncomfortably, Clara looked away.  
“Ah. Right.” Nodding slightly, Jane looked around.  
“Is John coming?” She asked.

“He would have, if you had let me know earlier!” Her mother declared, giving Jane a snide smile.  
Nodding a little, Jane looked at Rose and grinned.  
“Want to go out for a bit?”  
Eyes brightening, Rose turned hopefully to her parents.  
“Dad, Mum, can I??”  
“But we had to go over some school work Rose, so I’m not-” Clara begun before getting interrupted by Harry.  
“-Sure Rose! Get your sweater and go!” Harry said, clapping her on the back.  
Glaring at Harry, Clara bit the inside of her cheek.  
“Harry…I had just told her no…”  
“She hasn’t seen Jane in ages Clara! And besides, you’ll get all the time in the world when you go to London.” Harry said stiffly, walking into the kitchen.  
“London?” Jane asked, surprised.  
“I ah…meant to talk with you about that Jane. But since I took Rose and left, I-I’ve needed a clean break, and-”  
“-I’m ready Aunt Jane!!!” Rose yelled.  
“I’ll tell you later Jane. Go, take her out. Be back anytime you want.” Clara smiled warmly.  
Jane knew her well enough to know when her smiles were forced. It seemed Harry and Clara’s marriage was truly at an end.  
After taking Rose to the movies, Jane took them to an ice cream parlour.  
“Enjoying it?” She asked Rose as she slurped loudly on her raspberry sherbet.  
“Yeah!! I got this because Dad said this was your favourite when you were a kid!”  
Her favourite ice cream had always been mint chocolate chip. Not sure how to answer that, Jane nodded a little.  
“Yeah-I-have always enjoyed it.”  
Quietly, they sat on the curb, eating ice cream. This took her back. When she was little, John would always take her out of the house when her parents fought. They’d go to the movies, do homework in the park, or just sit on a curb and eat ice cream.  
“Aunt Jane!”  
Looking at Rose, she smiled.  
“Yeah?”  
“You’ll never guess what part I got for my class play!”  
And off Rose went, prattling away of school, her friends, and how she got to be some sort of knight (even though she was a girl). And Clara wanted to take Rose away from this life? From her school, grandmother, and Harry? Jane didn’t quite know how she felt about that.  
As they took a bus home, Rose looked at Jane.  
“Why did you come Aunt Jane? You said you weren’t coming until the summer.” Rose asked, nestling up to her side.  
“Things changed Rose. A lot of things.”  
“How long will you be here?”  
“I…”  
She hadn’t even planned that out.  
“I don’t know.” She admitted.  
***  
That night, Jane pulled out her laptop. She should write something to Sherlock, tell him how Truro was. Then again, he didn’t particularly care about personal subjects. Opening her inbox, she saw a few emails about cases they had. After reading them to see if they were even remotely interesting, she forwarded it to Sherlock.  
“Jane?”  
Hearing a quiet knock, she saw Clara at the doorway.  
“Hi...”  
The tall woman sat cautiously at the edge of her bed.  
“You wouldn’t be opposed of us going to London?”  
“I don’t know. Depends on how Harry feels about it.” Jane said shortly.  
Why she liked Clara, her loyalties would ultimately lie with her siblings.  
“He isn’t opposed. We both think it’d be good for Rose. I got a job offer to be an assistant editor.”  
“Blimey, a good job.” Jane commented.  
“It is, yes. But I would like to know if you would be okay with it.”  
“My opinion isn’t that important.”  
“Jane, yes it is. You left Truro to get away, start over. And I don’t want to spoil that for you.”  
“It’s not spoiling anything Clara. In fact…I have a lady next door next who’s looking for a flat to rent out for. Mind you, she’s an insufferable gossip, and you won’t have any private matters that she won’t know about.”  
“I don’t mind that at all! It’s right next door to you, that’s fantastic! Send me the details then!”  
After writing a letter to Mrs. Turner, she sent the information to Clara.  
“Also, I was wondering about this blog of yours. I only just started reading it. Tell me about Sherlock.”  
“Well, he’s a consulting detective. I help him on cases, and manage clients and such…”  
“Oh. And your mother doesn’t know about this?”  
“No, not exactly.”  
Looking at the open door, Clara looked back at Jane.  
“That might not end well…you should tell your Mum about this at some point.”  
Nodding, Jane closed her laptop, giving a subtle cue for Clara to take an exit.  
“Goodnight Jane.”  
***  
“She’s gone then?” Mycroft asked, going up the stairs.  
“Getting slow Mycroft.” Sherlock said listlessly, plucking at his violin strings.  
“Please. A moment of grief is always prudent for those who lose loved ones.” Mycroft jeered, earning a sharp look from Sherlock.  
“She’s not my ‘loved one’.” He said, looking down at his violin again.  
“Moriarty seemed to disagree.”  
Eyes locking with Mycroft’s, Sherlock clenched his jaw.  
“You knew?”  
“Of course I knew Sherlock! And now the plans are lost!” He snapped.  
“No, they’re not. I made a copy.” Sherlock said back, throwing it at him.  
Catching it, Mycroft put it in his suit jacket.  
“Still…just like old times.”  
Silently, Sherlock watched him sit on Jane’s, no, the burgundy chair across from his.  
“I did warn you though…about her, people, all of it.”  
“Shut up.” Sherlock said, irritated.  
“Just you and I again.”  
His bad mood ever darkening, Sherlock exhaled through his nose.  
“It was a pity though. I truly had wished she would have worked out for-”  
“-Just get out!!!” Sherlock yelled, standing up suddenly.  
Raising his eyebrows at Sherlock, Mycroft did accordingly.  
“If it is your wish, I will find another flatmate.”  
“No need. Don’t meddle.”  
Turning his back to Mycroft, he whittled out a sad tune. After what seemed hours, he turned and looked at her chair. Sighing, he picked it up and put it in a corner of the room, dumping books and boxes all over it.  
***  
She missed him terribly. Of course Jane would never admit such a thing, but it was still painfully there. She checked her phone and email regularly, hoping that he’d have sent her something, anything. But, there was always nothing.  
As she got ready for bed, Jane dialled Mrs. Hudson’s phone. Hearing her pick up, Jane’s spirits lifted slightly.  
“Mrs. Hudson??”  
“Jane!!” She squealed.  
“Hello! How have you been!”  
“Good. Except for my hip, it’s been giving me trouble again!”  
“I can look at it.” Jane offered.  
“Oh Dear, it’s alright…” Mrs. Hudson chuckled.  
“So….er…I was wondering-”  
“-How Sherlock is?? Oh, he’s been…sad. He moved your chair. I tried moving it back, but he said not to.”  
Her chair? No-he didn’t think that she was…  
“Mrs. Hudson…” Jane begun. “You don’t think he’s assuming I’m never coming back.”  
Mrs. Hudson’s silence was her answer.  
“That dramatic little…” Clenching her teeth, Jane begun changing out of her pyjamas.  
“I’ll be there in a bit.”  
Hanging up, she packed her army duffel, and within five minutes was downstairs.  
“Mum, I’m sorry, but I have got to go now!”  
“Now? It’s night-time, why??” She demanded.  
“Emergency. I’ll call you.” Jane promised, pushing open the swing door.  
“Jane Watson! You come back in this house this very instant!!” Her mother yelled.  
Jane didn’t listen. Running to a cab, she hurried in, and barked orders to the nearest train station. By the time she arrived in London, it was one-thirty in the morning. Opening the door quietly, she looked around. It was dark, and quiet. While it was early, she half-expected Sherlock to be awake.  
Tiptoeing up the stairs, Jane smelled the familiar scent of chemicals and wood. It was quite good to be back. Putting her bag at the door, she looked for Sherlock. Seeing him on the couch, Jane wasn’t quite sure what was going on. He usually slept with a light on, but the flat was pitch dark.  
Grabbing a blanket, Jane leaned over to put it on him. Suddenly, Sherlock snatched her wrist, and used his feet to knock her to the ground. Nose to nose with her, Sherlock realised that this was in fact, Jane.  
“Sherlock!!! What in God’s name are you doing?!” She yelled, struggling.  
“Jane?”  
Letting go immediately, Sherlock blinked at her.  
“Yes, Jane! I’m not some burglar sneaking in to kill you.” She snapped.  
“Really?” He said, raising an eyebrow amusedly.  
“You…you came back.” He said after an awkward pause.  
“Yes. Yes I did.”  
Frowning he stared down at her.  
“Why?”  
“Because…I never planned to leave in the first place. I’m staying.”  
Suddenly, Jane found herself in a locked embrace. Putting his head on her shoulder, Sherlock exhaled. Flushing slightly, Jane pulled back slightly so she could see his eyes.  
“I cannot believe you right now.” She whispered.  
“Why?”  
“You moved my chair. I would like it where it was.” She said sternly, looking at the poor chair in the corner.  
“And for another, you thought I wasn’t coming back. If you think something like a little scare is going to chase me out of 221B, then you are terribly wrong. I like to think that I am a strong woman, thank you very much.”  
“If it gives you comfort to think that.”  
“I sent you emails about clients. Did you get it?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well, did you solve any of them?”  
“No. Well, yes, but they were all quite clear. They were not worth my investment.”  
“But I heard, that you were doing nothing! I’ve been gone for two weeks Sherlock! There was no reason to think I wouldn’t come back.”  
Silently, he said nothing. Noticing she was still knocked on her back, he pulled off and stood up.  
Brushing herself off, Jane got up after him and looked at him enquiringly.  
Opening his mouth as if to say something, Sherlock turned his back to her and pulled her chair out again.  
“Sherlock…”  
Not looking at her, he moved the boxes off her chair. Grabbing his hand, Jane caught his eye.  
“I’m not leaving you. I don’t plan on going away from Baker Street. I promise.”  
Blinking several times, Sherlock gave no answer.  
“Alright then. I had a long trip, and I am tired. Good night.”  
“Good night.”  
Pulling out his sheet music, he looked at it. He had been composing a song ever since she had gone. And he knew how to finish it. Playing it, he stared at his violin as his nimble fingers switched strings. It went from a sober, despondent tune, to one that grew to one of a more jocund melody.


End file.
